Poison Five Shell Games
by ginny29
Summary: Spring AC 194 - when things go with a bang, Treize must fight to maintain his personal integrity in the face of orders from above and the pressures of his relationship with Zechs, who isn't happy with the decisions Treize has made on his behalf
1. Chapter 1

With sincere thanks to everyone who has followed this story so far, and particularly to all those who have reviewed!

Chapter One

Lady Une picked up the stack of folders she had sorted from her desk and tucked them neatly under her left arm, knowing Treize was not going to be pleased to see her when he saw she was carrying more work for him to do – most of which would have to be done tonight.

It had been the pattern of their lives almost from the moment they had returned from their weekend break in Sweden. Treize would arrive in his office early in the morning to deal with the day-to-day administration of the base, issuing instructions to watch officers and counter-signing authorisations. By the time Une arrived, several hours later – generally fetching the breakfast he hadn't taken the time to eat – he would just be finishing dealing with the last of his eyes-only communications from the Alliance, or other bodies. Just in time to begin tackling the sheer mountains of work generated by the expanding organisation he was in command of.

Lunch had become a thing of the past for both of them. It took the pair of them working together till the early afternoon to wade their way through that – akin to running a single base, but on a much grander scale – moving resources and personnel, designing missions, filtering intelligence reports and mission reviews. Une had become adept at forging Treize's signature, and she knew Zechs – when he was available to help them – was just as skilled.

The afternoons were taken up with meetings, either with outside dignitaries or with Specials officers, or with inspections, or with the very occasional hour or two of training time.

Une sighed as she rapped on his office door, wishing she didn't have to consign him to another evening of work instead of rest, of half-cold commissary food that he wouldn't really touch instead of the relaxed dinner she knew – through Noin – that Zechs had been planning to take him to. Much as she wanted the blond out of their lives, and away from Treize, this was one occasion she'd rather been hoping the pilot would get his way.

The general's honey-smooth tenor bade her enter, and she opened the door in time to see him grimace as he caught sight of her, and the files she held. The expression was gone as quickly as it came, and then he was smiling at her ruefully, coming to his feet and holding out his hands for the pile of folders.

"I'm sorry about this, sir," she began, and he cut her off mid-sentence with the wave of one of those hands.

"Lady, please. It's hardly your fault."

"I know, but…"

He smiled at her, the genuine warmth in his eyes almost enough to erase the strain tiredness had set into his face. "Une, stop it. This is what comes of wanting to change things. It won't last forever – another month or two and we'll have the officers we need in place and they'll be able to handle most of this."

"Yes, sir," she agreed, wincing at the thought of another month of the life they'd been leading lately.

"And," he continued, "it will be better when we return to Luxembourg. This place leaves a lot to be desired." He gestured absently at his office as he spoke, silently inviting her to compare it, not for the first time, to the one he normally occupied in Luxembourg. As she had mentioned to Noin in the car ride on Christmas Eve, the Dover base was sadly lacking, even after several months of heavy renovations. "I suppose I should be grateful," he murmured. "At least it isn't leaking anymore – which is more than can be said of some of the junior officers' accommodations. Did you know Noin has moved in with Zechs?"

Une raised an eyebrow. "No, I didn't know that."

Treize opened his mouth to say something further then seemed to pause as he shook his head. "Forgive me, my Lady. I'm being a terrible host. Do sit down."

Moving to obey out of habit, she cast him a questioning look, wondering what had prompted Noin to move in with her classmate, and why her horribly overworked commander seemed to be turning her folder-dropping run into a social visit. As she watched, Treize rooted in a chest tucked almost out of sight under the dusty hangings covering the windows and emerged with two glasses and a bottle of wine. A few practiced gestures with a corkscrew liberated from one of his desk drawers saw him pouring the liquid – oddly enough, clear in colour rather then the rich red she had expected – into the glasses, and then handing one to her as he sat down on the other end of the small sofa that seemed to be a feature of every office he ever occupied.

He took a sip of the wine, swallowed slowly and leaned back against the cushions.

Une held herself still as his eyes shut, wondering if he was so tired that he would fall asleep where he was sitting, but just as she was considering how to make him comfortable without waking him, he opened his eyes again and looked at her, his little smile returning.

"Sorry, Une." He shook his head. "Noin, yes. She knocked Zechs up about two o'clock this morning, demanding he let her sleep on his couch. Apparently when she got off duty it was to find her room had three inches of water in it. The roof had given up its valiant resistance to the weather, finally. This morning, maintenance told her it's going to be at least a week before the room is habitable again, so she gathered up her things and moved in with Zechs."

"I'm sure he's thrilled. I'll keep an eye on her – if she's sleeping on his couch, she won't be resting properly…" she trailed off as Treize began to laugh at her. "What?"

"I know you don't like Zechs much, Une, but give him that much credit. She's not sleeping on his couch – he is."

"Oh. Well, I'll watch him then."

"Don't worry about it. I told him he could borrow my bed, if it came to that. He only got back from Egypt yesterday; he's dead on his feet, and… I'm not exactly seeing much of it at the moment."

Une scowled, both at the fact that Zechs seemed to have moved in with their commander – she was perfectly aware that they would be sharing that bed when Treize had the chance – and at the fact that he was telling nothing but the simple truth when he said he wasn't using it much. The general had been averaging just under four hours of sleep a night for the past three weeks, she knew. She'd been counting.

She made a sudden decision. "Let me go through those folders for you, sir," she offered quietly. "Most of them only need reading and signing. I can do that for you, and give you a summary of the information tomorrow over breakfast."

Treize's eyes widened for a moment. "Thank you," he murmured, and she thought he was going to accept, then he reached out and brushed back a lock of her hair that had come loose from her braids. "I can't let you do that, Une. I promised you the evening off, remember?"

"Yes, but that doesn't matter. Please, sir…"

"No. You're just as tired as I am, Une. What will I do if you make yourself ill with exhaustion? Go, enjoy yourself. Go to bed early, or round Noin up and go out. Have fun. Zechs will give me a hand with all this if I ask him nicely enough, and he can forge my signature even better than you can – he's been doing it since we were children."

Une knew when to concede defeat. Slowly, she nodded and got to her feet. "Good night, then, sir."

Treize stood up as she did, walking her to the door and holding it for her. "Good night, my Lady."

She smiled at him, softening the harsh lines created by her hairstyle and her glasses and felt herself warm as he smiled back before shutting the door very firmly.

Suddenly free from work for the first time in what seemed a very long time, she wandered leisurely throughout the dilapidated corridors towards her rooms. A few paces from her door, she turned on her heels and retraced her steps until she came to the flight of stairs that would take her to the entrance of the building, crossing the courtyard swiftly.

If Treize wanted Zechs' company this evening, he would have it, even if she had to make it an order.

And, maybe, Noin would be free as well, and would like to spend the evening with her.

*******************************

The last thing Zechs had expected when the knock had come at his door was to see Lady Une. Even less had he expected the summons from Treize she had issued when not fifteen minutes before the man himself had contacted him and told him he had to cancel their planned dinner because of work, and that he would either see the pilot at some ungodly hour of the morning when he crawled into bed – should Zechs choose to take him up on his offer of sharing whilst Noin got her room fixed – or at the debriefing they had scheduled for the next afternoon.

Une's asking Noin if she had plans for the evening took him even more by surprise, and Noin agreeing quite happily had been a greater shock still – since when had those two been friends? Granted, they'd spent quite a lot of time together in Sweden, but…

Zechs shook his head as he smoothed the wrinkles out of his jacket and left the two women talking.

**************************

Zechs nodded a silent greeting to the officers he passed as he walked, unconsciously emulating his commanding officer, and quickened his pace as the door to Treize's office came into view.

As he drew nearer, the hastily repressed smiles he could see on the faces of the sentries sitting at their guard post were explained. If one had good hearing – and every member of the Specials had _excellent_ hearing – then the music seeping through the badly fitting door was quite clear.

Zechs fought off a grin. Treize might have had to work late, but he was obviously in a good mood regardless and had clearly decided to be comfortable whilst he did so.

The bemused expressions of the soldiers were, no doubt, prompted by the fact that pre-Colony blues was _not_ the musical preference one expected of Treize Khushrenada.

Knowing it would be useless to knock – he wouldn't be heard over the music – Zechs opened the door and stuck his head through the gap, waiting until Treize looked up, gave him a surprised smile and waved him in.

"Good evening, Zechs. I wasn't expecting to see you tonight. I thought I'd called you to cancel dinner?"

The younger man judged his friend's level of tiredness by the fact that there was a genuine question in those words. If Treize couldn't remember a conversation he'd had not an hour before, he needed to stop working and go to bed.

"You did. Une told me you wanted my help with something?"

Treize stared at him for a moment, and then put his pen down and began to laugh. "That scheming, little…! I love Une, sometimes, I really do."

"Really, Treize?" Zechs asked, voice dry.

"Not like that! I told her she had to take the evening off, but she wouldn't go. She insisted that she had to stay here and help me with all this paperwork – and she wouldn't go until I told her I'd get you to help me instead. She obviously knows me better than I thought if she came to get you herself and made it sound like I'd sent her to. I had no intention of asking for your help."

"I see. Would you like me to go, then?"

Treize shook his head. "Not unless you had other plans for the evening. Now that you're here I find I wouldn't mind your company after all." Treize smiled at the younger man. "I won't ask you to work, but you can stay and talk to me if you'd like?"

Zechs settled himself onto the sofa in much the same place Une had earlier and shrugged. "I'll make you a deal – I'll help you with your work if you turn that…" He nodded towards the computer that was the source of the music. "…down."

Treize smiled. "You have some objection to my choice of music?"

"I do when it's playing at that volume. Don't be surprised if you get a few strange looks tomorrow – I take it you forgot that this office door isn't perfectly fitted and soundproofed?"

Treize's fingers – hovering over the volume key – froze as the general realised he'd done exactly that. "Oh dear," he murmured with a raised eyebrow and a wry grin as he turned the music down. "Do you think my reputation will ever recover?"

Zechs shook his head, and got to his feet to retrieve some of the folders from the over-full desk. "I imagine it will if you glare hard enough at anyone who dares to giggle at you."

"Ah, well. That shouldn't be a problem then."

Zechs grinned at his commander's blithe certainty – it was nice to know Treize was aware of his effect on people – and turned his attention to the first of the folders he had picked up.

Treize's voice hours later tore him from his focus on the papers in front of him and he looked up.

"This is the second time tonight I've forgotten my manners," Treize murmured. "Here you are doing my work for me and I haven't even had the courtesy to offer you a drink!"

Zechs smiled up at him and shrugged. "I shouldn't worry. I would have asked you if I'd wanted one, or just got it myself." He glanced down, and then up again. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"This folder…" Zechs tapped the base of his pen against the file he was holding in his lap. "…is about a mission plan. A possible assault against the port of Aden in Yemen…"

Treize grimaced. "That thing. Give it here. I have the overwhelming urge to stamp FUBAR on it and send it back to whatever tactical 'genius' devised it in the first place."

Zechs frowned. "…Fubar?" he asked, wondering if either he was hearing things, or if Treize had started babbling nonsense.

The older man chuckled. "Old military term, Zechs. It stands for Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition… which that plan most definitely is." Zechs was staring at him with a blank expression and wide eyes, and Treize found himself giving into laughter. "Sorry," he murmured eventually.

"That's… quite all right." The pilot hesitated for a moment then continued, "I'm not sure I understand why it's such a bad plan…"

Treize looked at him for a moment, then got to his feet, came round his desk and sat on the sofa next to his friend. "It's part of the Alliance's plan to break the Arab Independent States – much like your mission in Egypt was. We aren't getting anywhere trying to push our border that way, so they've decided that we should try and split their forces by attacking from the south as well. Aden is the major port for the region – the only one they have that isn't on the Red Sea and therefore hampered by our forces from Africa – and is just a short hop across the Arabian Gulf from Somalia, an easy jump for Aries suits and ship-based Leos."

"So, this is the first move in a bigger campaign?"

"Theoretically, yes, but it's one I'm having nothing to do with. There's no way on this Earth that I'm sending any mobile suit company into Aden."

"Why?"

"Have you looked at the reconnaissance shots?" Treize flipped to the back of the folder and showed the younger man a series of photos of a sun-drenched bay port with street after street of close-packed, multi-level buildings behind it, flanked by sheer cliffs. "That's why. The streets are too narrow for the Leos to manoeuvre, Aries would be far too vulnerable to shoulder launched anti-aircraft fire from the buildings, and even if the suits manage to fight their way through they have nowhere to go except up the cliffs or back into the sea. We couldn't hold the ground, even if we could take it without the cost being horrendous." He shook his head. "It's not a job for the Specials."

"Fair enough – I can certainly see why you're saying that."

"I would hope so." Treize leaned back into the sofa and frowned. "To be honest, I think the whole plan needs to be scrapped. The only way to take Aden would be to fight street to street with infantry. I haven't looked at the casualty predictions for that, but I can take a good guess – in terms of troop loss it doesn't really bear thinking about, even if one discounts collateral damage."

Zechs glanced down at the photos again and tried to imagine fighting in the pictured streets in light body armour with a rifle. Trained as he was to do so if necessary, it wasn't an idea he relished. "Air strike?" he suggested.

"If the idea were to obliterate the port completely, then yes. But the intention is to leave it relatively intact so that we can use it. Air strikes in that scenario just leave the infantry fighting through piles of rubble and unstable buildings and remove any possibility of heavy support." Treize reached out as he spoke, took the folder from Zechs' hand and tossed it onto the floor at the side of the couch. "It's a classic military conundrum, I'm afraid. Strategically, taking Aden makes perfect sense – could even be viewed as essential – but tactically it's a disaster in the making."

Zechs nodded. "Could you do it if you had to?" he asked, wondering as he spoke what had prompted him to.

The older man closed his eyes and sighed. "If I had to, yes. It wouldn't be pretty, and I'd have to break every convention of modern warfare to do it, but it could be done."

"How?"

Treize shot Zechs a cold look. "How did they take Newport city? I'd assume everyone living in the city was hostile, and go in with Tragos-mounted artillery and borrowed Alliance sweep teams. Attack from the port in a street by street advance, destroying every building in the process and searching the rubble before moving on. The civilian casualties would be near to a hundred percent. Hopefully the city would surrender before I had to advance too far, but the port would be intact even if the city wasn't."

Zechs swallowed. "Oh."

"Quite. Fortunately, I don't have to take Aden… this is one mission I can simply say no to, thank God."

"Do you think anyone else from the Alliance will come up with that plan?"

Again Treize closed his eyes. "Come up with it, or use it? They might develop it, but they'd have to be mad to use it. In the colonies, maybe, but not on Earth. Something like that would create havoc in the member countries – the political backlash would be tremendous." He forced a smile. "Grim topic for a Friday evening, isn't it?" There was distant rumble. "And, it's starting to storm again."

Zechs froze. "Treize, that wasn't…!" He caught the older man by the waist and flung them both to the floor as the second explosion tore through the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"So, what did you want?" Noin asked Une as both women settled themselves into Zechs' chairs, and watched the man in question leave to obey the summons Une had brought from Treize.

Une shrugged in response. "I don't know if I want to do anything, particularly," she admitted. "Mr Treize insisted I have the evening for myself. I was just going to go to bed early and read until I thought of you."

Noin looked at the other woman, wondering what had prompted this sudden impulse towards friendliness on Une's part. Though the two of them had ended up as passably good acquaintances over the past few months – mostly because they'd been forced to spend a lot of time in each other's company whilst Treize and Zechs went off and did their own things – Noin hadn't ever expected that Une would come seeking her out like this. She'd rather thought Une would have other friends she'd prefer to spend her free time with.

Noin blinked as that thought processed. Did Une actually have any other friends? Beyond Treize, of course, and that was an uncomfortable relationship at the best of times.

As the older woman sipped at the coffee Zechs had been gentleman enough to make for them before leaving, Noin wondered if a lot of Une's harsher characteristics could be explained by that fact. It was easy to imagine that the older woman didn't make friends easily, and probably never had. Even Noin had disliked her at first and Noin knew she could usually get on with anyone. Une had a protective exterior shell that would scare away most people foolish enough to try to befriend her, especially in conjunction with her rank and her position as Treize's aide.

Noin smiled as an idea came to her. "Une, when was the last time you went dancing?"

* * *

Persuading Une to leave the base hadn't been easy. Convincing her that going out dancing sounded like a good idea had been a challenge. Getting her to wear the right sort of clothes had been downright difficult, and getting her to actually set foot in the club Noin had decided on was proving well nigh impossible.

"When you said dancing, Noin, I thought you meant _dancing_. Not… this."

Noin grinned, smoothing down her slicked back purple hair as she tugged on her superior's arm. "You must have had some idea when I made you borrow my clothes. Come on."

Une shook her head, folding her arms stubbornly. "If I'd had any idea, I'd never have agreed. I hate places like this – they're always too loud, and they don't play anything that even resembles music."

Taking in Une's determined pose and scowling face, Noin sighed. Time to bring out the big guns… "It's a shame you think that. I happen to know Mr Treize likes clubs like this one quite a lot…"

Une snorted, shaking her head. "Thank you for believing I'm that gullible, Noin. Can you see His Excellency in this place? Because I can't."

Noin nodded. "Neither could I when he mentioned it. I mean, it doesn't exactly go with the polished nobleman image, does it? But then I thought about it…"

She waited, watching Une's face as the older woman went through the same chain of thought that Noin had, albeit with a touch less information. The conversation Noin was referring to had taken place completely by chance a week or so earlier, whilst Zechs had been on assignment in Egypt and Une frantically working. Noin had been taken utterly by surprise when Treize invited her to join him for dinner after they encountered each other in the gym, but her curiosity had made her accept and she had found herself in the centre of Dover proper with a man who owed more to Zechs's friendly lover than her intimidating commanding officer. Somewhere in the middle of good food and better wine, the conversation had switched from mobile suit design to hobbies, and then to musical taste. Noin had been quite surprised when she'd found that Treize could follow her enthusiastic babble about the dark wave and cyber-Goth artists she liked, and delightedly stunned when he told her he not only knew of, but had been in some of her favourite clubs from her time at the Victoria Academy. They'd spent ten minutes comparing dates and times of visits, wondering if they'd ever been in the same place at the same time as Instructor and Cadet without seeing each other, and coming to the conclusion that they hadn't.

That much she had no problem with telling Une – and would in a minute if she didn't stop being so awkward – but the rest of the conversation she didn't intend to divulge. It had transpired that Noin's relatively mainstream dance clubs had only been the tip of Treize's nightlife in what he called the 'wild child' days of his instructor years and shortly after.

Noin had always suspected Treize had one hell of a kinky side under the perfect gentleman act.

Une appeared to have drawn her own conclusions on similar lines because she suddenly started moving towards the entrance to the club with her usual determined stride. Noin grinned as she followed.

The music more than trebled in volume as they made their way through the cloakroom and the lobby into the main area. They emerged side by side onto a balcony that overlooked a spacious dance floor, currently crowded with people flinging themselves about in what passed, Une assumed, for dancing.

Noin, still smiling broadly, grabbed her superior's hand and tugged her along the length of the balcony to the bar. "What do you want to drink?" she asked, sliding lithely between other bodies and taking Une with her.

Une stared at her blankly. "Do I even ask for wine?"

Noin shook her head. "You can ask, but they won't have it. Try again?"

Une shrugged. "I'll let you pick something, I have no idea." The older woman regretted her words as soon as she said them – the impish light in Noin's eyes worried her greatly. Taking a few steps away from the crush at the bar, she rested her elbows on the cold metal railing around the balcony and looked down at the crowd below.

When Noin had first presented her with the clothes she was currently wearing Une had refused, saying there was no way she was going to wear something so guaranteed to draw attention. She had her own, admittedly limited, wardrobe of going-out clothes – surely there was something suitable in that?

The pilot had convinced her that there wasn't by stripping down in front of her and putting on her own chosen outfit. Noin's leather trousers, crop-top and mesh shirt had left Une ready to run for the hills. Not even for Treize, had he asked personally and on bended knee, was she going out in anything like that!

Noin had laughed her way through slicking her purple hair back and lining her eyes with kohl, teasing Une by designing increasingly outrageous outfits for her to wear. In the end, though, the younger woman had rooted in the back of her closet and produced a dress of heavy crimson velvet that Une, convinced that no evening gown could be all that bad, had agreed to wear without really looking at it, afraid that if she refused Noin would make good on her threats and break out the PVC.

It was only when she had the dress on and was looking at herself in the mirror in Zechs' bathroom that she realised the dress was cut in a style hundreds of years old, and that in it Une looked like nothing so much as a character from the cover of a cheap romance novel. The plunging neckline and corseted bodice hadn't done anything to endear it to her either.

Noin, however, had declared that she looked fantastic and proceeded to pin Une's waist-length hair into an elaborate crown of braids.

Une had felt ridiculous in her get-up until she'd got inside the club. Now, she realised that if Noin had folded and let Une choose her own outfit, the older woman would have stood out like the proverbial sore thumb whereas, as she was, she blended right in with the rest of the crowd – and so did Noin herself.

Further glances around the floor below her allowed Une to note and assess what the men in the club were wearing. Knowing she would have died rather than admit what she was doing to anyone, she entertained herself until her companion found her with idle thoughts of what Treize would wear in such a place and what he'd look like in it.

It was an appealing picture.

Noin reappeared clutching two glasses of clear liquid and talking animatedly with the girl who'd been stood next to her at the bar when Une had turned away. "Here you go, Une," she shouted over the music as she passed one of the glasses over. "Une, this is Zia."

The girl, a leggy redhead, smiled a greeting, which Une returned out of form as she looked over their new arrival. The girl was younger than either Noin or herself – most likely too young to be in the club they were in – and was vaguely pretty with her copper hair spilling down her back, picking up highlights from the shiny PVC dress she was wearing. She would have been prettier without the heavy makeup she'd plastered on her face. Where Noin had added only enough to enhance her features and, in any case, was beautiful enough to carry off almost anything, this girl seemed to be hiding behind hers. She was slim, but it was the slimness of rabid dieting. Putting her next to Noin, or to Une herself, and the sleek, athletic bodies their intense training had given them, was inviting comparisons that would not be complimentary.

Zia seemed to realise that at the same time Une did and she scowled as she made her apologies to Noin and hurried away.

The younger woman frowned. "Well, that's annoying."

"Why?" Une asked, sipping her drink and almost choking when the burn of neat vodka caught her throat.

"She was pretty. I liked her."

Une shrugged. "She was obsessive and neurotic, and would have been much prettier without all the powder and eyeliner."

"Probably, but that's the way people dress in here. And I wasn't worried about her personality – I wasn't planning on seeing her again after tonight." Noin stared off into space for a moment, then emptied the glass in her hand in one go and grabbed Une's arm. "Come dance with me."

Realising it would be useless to protest, Une followed Noin down the steps to the dance floor, stumbling a little as she realised what the other woman had just said. Casting another, speculative glance at her companion as she stepped onto the floor and tried to follow Noin's lithe, rhythmical movements, Une smiled as she wondered if she now knew something about Noin that even Zechs didn't.

She also wondered how many other similarities there were between herself and Noin. There was getting to be quite a collection.

* * *

The screech of sirens over the blare of music stilled the writhing crowd in a matter of seconds, Une and Noin amongst them. Exchanging alarmed glances, the two women began shoving through the mass of people as the music was shut off completely. A moment later, a figure appeared in the DJ's booth, leaning over and saying something to the man, who stiffened as though stung.

The crowd began murmuring amongst themselves, a rising hum that turned into people calling out, demanding to know what was going on. Without warning, industrial strip-lights flicked on with a heavy thunk, throwing the shadowy interior of the club into stark relief.

The DJ stepped out onto the platform in front of his post just as Noin and Une reached him. Une jumped up onto the stage, caught the man by the arm and hauled him back against his booth. "What's happening?" she demanded.

"Hey! Watch it, lady. Who the hell do you think you are?"

Feeling Noin's presence as a warm shadow on her spine backing her up, Une leaned into him. "Lieutenant-Colonel Lady Anne Une, Colonel Khushrenada's senior aide. Those are disaster sirens. What is going on?"

The DJ paled. "You're Specials?" He glanced at Noin, taking in her blank gaze and the gun she was holding, having pulled it from somewhere inside her clothing. "Both of you?"

"Captain Noin." Une introduced. "Last warning…"

The man swallowed, apparently reading something in Une's eyes that he didn't like. "Are you from the base?" he asked. "The one that's being renovated, just outside the town?"

"Yes."

"You… uhm… you'd best get back there, I think. The sirens… the mayor tripped them when he got a call from the base. There were explosions there…"

Une all but shoved him over as she pushed him out of her way, leapt off the stage and ran for the door, Noin on her heels.

* * *

They could see the clouds of smoke billowing from the base as they rounded a bend in the coast road, miles before they came anywhere near to it. "Oh, my God," Une breathed, leaning forward to clutch the glove box with desperate fingers.

Noin glanced up from the road in front of her at her superior's horrified gasp, shot one look out of the side window, and pressed her foot down on the accelerator of the car. "What the hell did that?" she demanded.

Une shook her head, her fingers clutching and releasing on the smooth plastic she was gripping. "The man at the club said there had been explosions… It looks like he was right."

"Caused by what?" Noin asked. "I didn't think the base was storing anything explosive?"

"The fuel dump, the ammunition stores, maybe. But I carried out an inspection of both of those yesterday and there was nothing improper. It doesn't look like the smoke is coming from those parts of the base anyway."

"Where, then?" Noin hauled on the wheel of the car, making the tires squeal as she spun them off the motorway and onto the road that had been built to provide access to the base.

Une strained to see clearly, her attempts hampered by the angle of the road, the early growth of the trees planted in an attempt at landscaping, and the clouds of thick black smoke. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "It looks like the mess hall, the Staff Officers housing, and their offices." She caught her breath. "Oh, no…"

Noin spared her another glance, feeling her heart rate jump when the other woman's face paled. "Une?"

"The Staff offices…" Une moaned. "Treize was working late and I sent Zechs up there to keep him company. They're probably… they're probably both still in there."

Noin went cold, suddenly finding it difficult to draw a deep breath. Her foot pressed even harder on the accelerator of the car, eking out every last ounce of speed she could. "It was deliberate," she murmured, thinking out loud and not realising that she was until Une looked at her with wide eyes.

"What?" Une asked.

Noin shrugged tightly, shaking her head as she tried to offer comfort. "We don't know that Treize was still in his office, Une. It's very late. It's more than possible he'd have stopped working by now…"

"If he has, then he's most likely in his rooms… or the mess. He hadn't eaten when we left…"

Noin sighed. "I know that," she admitted, wishing the other woman weren't quite so sharp. "That's why I think it was deliberate rather than an accident. If I wanted to kill Treize, his office, his rooms, and the mess are the exact three places I'd target." She hesitated, biting her lip as she wondered how to phrase what she was going to say next – or even if she should say anything at all. One look at the terror on the older woman's face, and the tears gathering in the corners of soft brown eyes made up her mind for her. "The thing is, Une, that I know Treize. If I'd planned this, I'd have targeted Pilot accommodation as well. It's possible Treize and Zechs were there, you know – in Zechs' rooms."

"It's possible," Une agreed, nodding, and Noin relaxed. As she had hoped, Une had accepted Noin's reasoning as logical in light of the two men's friendship, and hadn't asked for any explanations Noin couldn't offer.

Une was silent for a moment before she turned her head to look at the younger woman fully. "Would they risk that with you staying there as well?" she asked quietly. "Knowing you could walk in at any time?"

"Why would that matter?" Noin asked after a frozen second. She forced her voice to be innocent, and schooled her features to neutrality.

The older woman raised an eyebrow, folding her hands together in her lap to keep them from shaking. "I didn't think Zechs had an exhibitionist streak?" she asked, with a nervous giggle.

The car jinked as Noin jumped in reaction. "Une, what are you…?"

Une shot her a pitying look as the younger woman choked "Stop it, Noin. I'm far from stupid; I know they're sleeping with each other."

Noin coloured. "Oh."

Une smiled shakily. "I've known for quite some time now. Zechs isn't nearly as discreet as he thinks he is. And Mr Treize certainly isn't."

The car screeched into the courtyard of the base as Noin shook her head. She'd warned the two men they were being too obvious…

"I know everyone Mr Treize has slept with in the last three years," Une commented as Noin braked hard.

Both women had their doors open almost before the car had stopped moving. Noin shot Une a disbelieving look as they flung themselves out into the smoke-filled air. "What?" she spluttered.

Une gave her a cat-like smile, even as her eyes widened in horror at the destruction that had been wrought on the base. "Noin, I know everyone _every_ Specials officer has slept with in the last three years. I'm head of the Intelligence branch – it's my job. As an example – a dark-haired Aries Flight Lieutenant with the newest member of her unit – one Officer Nikita Zaitsev, I believe – in the Suit shed at Luxembourg three weeks ago."

Noin flushed, knowing her skin was going a shade of red she hadn't ever managed before. With Une hard on her heels, and struggling to manage her long skirt, Noin made her way towards the young officer who seemed to be in charge of things. "How much for the tapes, then?" she asked as they drew level with the young man.

Une laughed, snatching the clip-board out of the Lieutenant's hands as he stumbled through expressing his gratitude at seeing the two of them alive. "Thank you, Lieutenant," she dismissed, scanning down the list of names swiftly. "What are you prepared to offer?" she asked Noin.

The younger woman blinked, opened her mouth to reply and stopped as another voice rose above the general chaos of the quad. "What the hell is going on here? Who took your list off you?" The two women turned to see the bulky figure of Major Foche barrelling at them through the smoke.

Straightening her spine, Une sighed under her breath. "Major. I took the boy's list from him. I'm presuming you're acting as Incident Commander?"

"Lady Une…" The grey-haired man spluttered as he came to a halt. "I was under the impression you were off base for the evening? The gate-house log showed…"

Une held a hand up. "I was. I returned when I heard what had happened. Fill me in, please. I'll take command, now."

The man looked down at the two of them, casting an acid eye over their clothes. "Forgive me, Ma'am, but protocol states that I have to remain in command until the Incident is closed. According to regulations, you shouldn't have come onto the base. If you'd…"

"A moment, Major." Une glared at him hard enough to silence him. "Has Colonel Khushrenada been located?"

The major swallowed. "No, Lady. We think he was still in his office, and…"

Une nodded, outwardly calm, though Noin didn't miss the way her hands begin to shake again. "Major Marquise, then?" Une asked.

The man shook his head again. "No, ma'am. We don't know where Marquise is. He's logged as off-duty, and his rooms weren't damaged, but there hasn't been any sign of him."

Une closed her eyes. "I gave Marquise orders to assist Mr Treize in his office earlier this evening. We'll presume he was still there." She turned to look at the ruin of the office building, mentally counting windows and wincing when she took in the shattered glass and debris that had fallen from Treize's first floor room. "Has anyone been recovered from that part of the base?" she asked.

"No, Lady. No-one. We've presumed anyone in there dead."

Une shivered, but she held Foche's eyes. "Then, until further notice, I am the de-facto Commander of the Specials, and therefore, according to regulation, entirely entitled to be here and to take command. Would you go and assist the rescue teams, please?" she finished sweetly.

Foche flushed, but he had no choice but to salute and hurry away.

"Officious bastard!" Une snarled, watching him go. After a moment, she turned to Noin, who was waiting quietly by her side. "I hate to ask this of you, Noin, but would you take care of finding Treize and Zechs? Locating them has to be a priority. We need to know, one way or another, what's happened to them."

Noin nodded, understanding completely what the older woman was saying. Until the two men were officially accounted for, Une's command was a tenuous thing – something that could prove disastrous if this attack was only the first of many. Noin realised suddenly that they were facing exactly the worst-case scenario Treize had taken advantage of to get Zechs off-base for his birthday.

Une put a hand on Noin's arm suddenly. "I wouldn't ask this of you, but – given everything – if one of them is dead, the other is likely to be…"

Une trailed off as Noin gave her a grim smile. "I know, Une." The younger woman didn't want to imagine what state the survivor would be in if one of the men was dead. A rescue team that would guarantee discretion was essential, even if both men had died. In that case, preserving their reputations intact would be the last service either woman could perform for them. Thinking quickly, Noin cast a searching look around the courtyard and smiled as she spotted a slender young man on the far side. "Otto!" she called. "Zechs's batman," she explained to Une. "He all but worships the ground Zechs walks on. He'll keep his mouth shut, no matter what."

"I know," Une agreed. "I approved his change of unit when Zechs returned to Luxembourg." She nodded. "Go, then. And good luck."

Noin waited whilst Otto had come to her side, listening as Une walked away, muttering under her breath in what sounded like German, and then turned for the wreck of the Staff office building, wondering how much chance she realistically had of finding either Treize or Zechs alive.


	3. Chapter 3

His ears ringing from the concussive force of the blast, his head aching viciously from its impact with the floor, Zechs felt awareness flow back into him and cursed silently as he pushed himself to his hands and knees, not noticing that he'd been lying half on top of something warmer and more yielding than the floor until he moved away from it.

Fighting dizziness, he got his feet under him and had to stop in a crouch as his lungs choked on all the dust swirling in the air, sending him into a wracking coughing fit that spiked the pain in his head until there were sparkles in front of his vision and he thought he would slip back into unconsciousness.

When the spasm passed, he lifted his head cautiously and looked around at the ruin of Treize's office, noting absently that he was a good three or four feet further into the room than he had started out. The sofa seemed to have taken the brunt of the blast, shielding them from the worst of the explosion's effects as he had intended – it was scorched and torn. The desk had been thrown hard enough against the far wall to splinter it into kindling, its papers strewn all over the room, torn and tangled with the shredded drapes and the shattered glass from the windows.

Remembering that he had been lying on something other than the floor when he woke reminded Zechs that he hadn't been alone in the room when the shock wave hit, and he looked down quickly. Panic seizing somewhere inside him as he took in the still, sprawled figure of Treize, he gripped the older man's shoulder to roll him over before the first aid training he'd suffered through as a cadet kicked in and made him stop. He knew better than to move someone who could very well have spinal injuries, and forced himself to settle for pressing desperate fingers against Treize's throat, feeling for the pulse. He couldn't quite suppress the sigh of relief that broke from him when he recognised the beat under his hand, weak as it was.

As though Zechs's touch were the needed catalyst the older man moaned softly, stunned sapphire eyes flickering open. He coughed feebly, rolled from the face down position he had landed in to his back and tried to sit up. Zechs caught his arm and lent him support.

"Slowly," the pilot instructed, and Treize nodded.

"Believe me, I'm not in any hurry. What the hell was that?"

"An explosion of some sort. I don't know what caused it, but there was more than one. It wasn't thunder you heard."

"I assumed as much." The general glanced around the room much as Zechs had and grimaced. "I suspect I have your reflexes to thank for my life – I couldn't have moved that fast on my own." He looked around again. "Actually, if you hadn't been here I would most likely have been sat at my desk in front of those windows – a somewhat unpleasant end, I should think."

Zechs shot his own second look at the wreckage of the desk and turned back to his friend with a forced smile. "I'm not thinking about that," he commented softly, and won a sympathetic chuckle from his general.

"Indeed, best not to." Treize coughed again, swallowed and got his knees under him. "Can you stand?" he asked.

"I think so," Zechs told him, doing so.

Treize nodded his approval and held out his right hand. "Would you mind?"

Shaky from the impact, his chest aching from the pressure effects of the concussion force he'd been exposed to, Zechs leaned forwards and pulled on Treize's hand as the older man pushed to his feet. Gaining his feet, Treize staggered almost immediately and the younger man caught the general's free left arm just below the elbow to steady him.

Treize's sharp cry shocked Zechs and he reacted instinctively, releasing his hold on his friend even as the older man flinched away from the pilot's gip and drew his arm against his chest.

"Treize? What's the matter?" Hesitantly, Zechs reached out again, worry rising as the general didn't move from the protective posture he'd assumed, cradling his left arm into his body and shielding it with his other hand. "Treize?"

Swallowing hard, Treize looked up, face pale. "I think my arm is broken. Your gripping it… rather hurt."

Zechs released the breath he'd been holding in a hiss between his teeth. "Fuck! I'm sorry, I didn't realise…"

Treize nodded. "I know. Neither did I till just now." He straightened his shoulders. "It's hardly your fault regardless."

Zechs shrugged. "Perhaps, perhaps not." He reached out again. "Let me look at it – we need to know how bad it is."

Cautiously, Treize relaxed the shielding clasp he had on his wrist and let Zechs take it in gentle fingers, setting his teeth into his lip to suppress threatening whimpers of pain. The younger man drew Treize's arm to him carefully and began running his hand over it, feeling for obvious deformity, or worse, any place where the bone might have torn through the skin. Convinced that it wasn't an open fracture, Zechs retrieved the knife he carried in his boot and used it to slit the heavy woven fabric of Treize's sleeve away so he could see the area clearly.

"Christ!"

Treize's quiet, heartfelt cursing as the fabric tugged against his limb before falling away made Zechs look up and offer a strained smile in sympathy. "Sorry – I'm trying not to hurt you."

"I know."

Arm freed, Zechs helped Treize shrug out of his jacket. "Why do you insist on wearing a shirt underneath your jacket?" he asked as the general's linen dress shirt was revealed.

"Habit, I suppose. I have to admit that right now I'm wishing I followed your example, and kept only to the undershirt."

"I imagine you are." Zechs looked down, squinting in the poor light and smoky air, and scowled when he saw that the white fabric was bloodstained. Hoping he hadn't been wrong about there being no exposed bone, he slit this sleeve too and got Treize out of his shirt, revealing smooth pale skin beginning to bruise and swell under a nasty looking graze.

Tugging his cravat from around his neck, Zechs used it to dab the blood away and then tied it in a loose knot around the graze to act as a makeshift bandage. "Can you move your hand?" he asked.

His skin losing the last of its colour and taking on a glaze of sweat as the movement caused pain to stab up his arm, Treize flexed his wrist cautiously. "It appears so," he murmured, and there was a tremor in his voice.

"All right."

Taking Treize's ruined shirt between his hands, Zechs tore three or four strips of linen from it, hunted up two thin, smooth-looking bits of wood from the remains of the desk and turned back to his commander. "You might want to sit down before I splint your arm," he suggested, not liking the way his lover looked.

Treize raised his eyebrows. "I doubt that's necessary. Get on with it, Zechs. My base is in pieces, I don't know why and I don't know how many of my people are hurt. I don't have time for all this."

The pilot nodded. "As you wish, then." Silently, he took Treize's good hand and drew it to his own shoulder, inviting the older man to hold on to him for support. Long fingers – betraying their owner's stoicism by shaking – locked into red wool, creasing the fabric under the strength of the grip.

As gently as he could, Zechs pulled Treize's arm straight and into alignment, cringing at the sensations under his hand, set the wooden splinters on either side and tied them into position. Vicious German cursing and choked off cries let Zechs know just how much pain he was causing and, as he used Treize's own cravat to form a makeshift sling and elevated the general's arm to rest against his body, the older man swayed, knees giving out on him. Zechs caught Treize with an arm around his waist, ignored the sudden ache blazing along his own shoulder blades, and held him. "I told you to sit down," he murmured, and was rewarded for his impertinence with a ragged laugh.

"Perhaps." Treize leaned forward and let his forehead rest next to his hand on Zechs's shoulder. "Fuck me, that hurt."

"I rather thought it might." Zechs brought his spare hand up and pressed it over Treize's on his shoulder, as if he could press some of his own strength into his friend. Laboured breathing slowed and settled, and finally Treize lifted his head and stepped away.

"I haven't asked you yet if you're hurt," he commented, dark eyes making a silent apology.

"I've felt better, but there's nothing serious that I know of."

"Good." The general took a deep breath. "I have to attend to the base…"

Treize's unspoken request for support was clear, and a damning measure of how bad he was feeling. Zechs hadn't known Treize to ask for help with anything in years. The pilot nodded, giving his assistance as quietly as it had been asked for.

The older man smiled at him, and turned for the door. Before he could move through it, Zechs had retrieved Treize's jacket from the floor, pulled the damaged sleeve inside out and slid it gently across his commander's shoulders. Battered as it was, the coat was a visual reminder of who Treize was – authority he was likely to need in the coming hours – and would lend him more warmth than the thin undershirt he was wearing would alone.

"Thank you," Treize murmured.

Daring, Zechs reached over, brushed sweat-dampened locks of hair back into place and smiled. "You're welcome, sir."

Treize returned the smile for a moment before he stepped into the corridor.

"Sweet merciful God!"

The corridor Zechs had walked up earlier that evening was a blackened, collapsing ruin.

The younger man stared at it in disbelieving horror as he and Treize made their way along it, occasionally having to clamber over piles of fallen rubble and duck around small fires started by burnt out wiring and fed by the debris.

"I suspect that office door was sturdier than we gave it credit for," Treize murmured, as he leant against a relatively clean and stable-looking section of wall, trying to catch his breath. "If that was all that stood between us and this."

Zechs shook his head. "I don't think it was the door. I think it was the windows and the way they blew out. Your insistence on natural light in your workspaces might have kept us alive."

"Hmm?" Treize pushed off from the wall and resumed walking. "What do you mean?"

The younger man scowled. "You'll have to ask someone who's properly qualified to be sure, of course, but I think the windows shattering gave the blast-wave a way out. Here, it didn't have one so it bounced back off the walls. I suppose that's what happened to the guard…" He trailed off, swallowing hard.

The two young sentries who had tried so hard not to let Zechs see them smiling at their commander's musical choices had still been at their posts when the explosion occurred. Treize and Zechs had found their bodies in the wreckage of the corridor outside the general's office, both of them obviously dead. One of them had been thrown into the wall hard enough to shatter his skull and then been pinned there by twisted shrapnel of his guard post, the cause of his death brutally clear. The other had been lying in the middle of the passageway with no obvious injuries except for a few cuts and bruises. Certainly nothing that would account for his death.

Beyond checking for pulses out of habit and making a note of the names given on the boys' ID tags so they could pass them to the search and rescue teams, there had been nothing either man could do for them. Treize had been clueless as to cause of death, and possessed neither the inclination nor the ability to make any guesses. It was enough for him that the boy was dead and he'd presumed Zechs was thinking along similar lines when the younger man moved on without saying a word.

Now, it appeared that assumption had been wrong. Treize looked at his friend with a mixture of morbid curiosity and genuine concern. "What do you mean?"

Zechs didn't look at the older man. "Haven't you noticed that it hurts to breathe?" he asked.

Treize snorted. "I haven't noticed much hurting beyond my arm, I'm afraid. I'm more breathless than I should be, I suppose. Why?"

"It's part of the same thing that I think killed the guard. Part of why people within the blast perimeter of any bomb don't tend to survive…"

Treize flicked a dark look at him. "Is that what you think caused this? A bomb? I thought you said you didn't know?" He shook his head. "I don't need you keeping information from me, Zechs!"

The younger man balked. "I'm not!" he insisted. "Treize, any information I can give you is only going to be my guesswork – it's going to take a forensics team to sort out what really happened tonight." He drew a deep breath, winced and continued, "I can only tell you what I know and I'm not an expert by any means. I didn't say anything because I could be giving you exactly the wrong information!"

The older man reached out with his good hand. "Forgive me, my friend. I didn't intend for that to sound as it did." He stopped, thinking as they walked. "In fact, I shall offer you an apology in advance," he added a moment later. "I'm at less than my best, I'm taking it out on you and I'm afraid I'm likely to do it again before we're done with this. Tell me what you think happened here and let me worry about whether you're right. Even bad information is better than none at all."

"Is it?" Zechs asked quietly. "I'm not sure about that, but then I'm not the general here."

Treize smiled. "Quite."

"All right. To begin with – yes, I think this was a bomb. More than one, since we know of at least two separate explosions. Had there been only one, I might have put this down to an exploding gas line or something, but two? Within seconds of each other?" He shook his head. "It just doesn't seem probable that this was natural. It might have been accidental, but…"

"But you don't think so?"

"No, I don't think so. Two random explosions of lethal force on a Specials base – the base that's widely known to be our most under-equipped, most vulnerable station? Whilst you – our leader – just happen to be present? When there just happens to have been a failed attempt on your life within the last six months?"

"Three, actually," Treize interjected with a wry smile. "Four, if one counts the fool who got caught trying to sneak into the Luxembourg headquarters last month. He was shot on sight."

"Jesus Christ!"

Treize laughed at Zechs' horrified exclamation. "I said I was used to it."

"You didn't tell me there'd been more attempts!"

"Of course I didn't. In fact, I specifically banned Une, and Noin for that matter, from telling you as well. You didn't need to know."

"I didn't need…" Zechs choked. "When? What happened?"

"The morphine in my wine in October was the most ingenious – and came closest to succeeding." Treize smiled again. "Actually, that one came the closest to succeeding of any so far…"

Zechs flinched. "Please, don't remind me," he asked, knowing only too well how close Treize had come to dying. The occasional nightmare still flashed him those horrific minutes, from the moment he had realised something was wrong on.

That afternoon, almost mid-word, Treize had stood up suddenly. He'd reached across the table to knock the glass from the hand of a startled Lady Une just as she was about to take a sip of her drink. His voice too calm, he had told them that he thought the wine had been tainted, and that he didn't feel well.

Lady Une had bitten off her horrified cry and flown across the room to the caller to summon medical help, leaving Zechs to stare at his friend, frozen. Treize had met his gaze with regret in his eyes, murmured something and swayed, shocking the younger man from his numbness into movement. He'd cleared the table so fast he'd been able to catch the general as he collapsed, and had held him until the doctors arrived. Those endless minutes, listening to Treize fighting for every breath and slowly losing ground, watching as his skin drained and his lips and nails took on a bluish tinge, had been one of the few times Zechs and Une had ever known what the other was thinking. He wondered if Une had told Treize it had been the two of them together who'd started CPR.

He knew she'd never told the general how Zechs had found her crying in the corridor when the Doctor informed them Treize was going to live, and had, without thinking, pulled her into his arms until she could get herself under control. It was for that she had repaid Zechs when she'd sat with him the morning of his birthday, but it had never been spoken of between them, and it never would be.

"The morphine in my wine," Treize repeated now. "A shooter in the crowd at one of those interminable balls whilst you were on L2 – Une shot him before he could pull the trigger – and an assassin in my bedroom in Lvov. I broke her neck."

"Oh, my God…"

"Zechs… Milliardo… it's all right."

"It's not all right! How can it possibly be all right? All that, and now this! What the hell is security doing?"

Treize shrugged, wincing as it aggravated his arm. "Talk to Une about that. Internal Security and Intelligence are her bailiwick, not mine."

The younger man stopped walking. "Talk to her? I'll kill her! How can she be doing her job if something like this can happen?"

"Zechs…" Treize reached out again, intending to soothe the younger man, and stopped when a new voice echoed down the corridor.

Noin, dust covered and looking exhausted, broke into a run as she saw them, pausing only to flash her commanding officer an ecstatic smile as she threw herself into the arms of a very surprised Zechs.

It was only as Zechs caught her, reflex closing his hands around her slender form, that Treize noticed what she was wearing, and smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

Zechs set Noin back on her feet gently, looking down at her in surprise as he registered, much as Treize had before him, what she was wearing and how far removed it was from the uniform he'd expected to see her in.

Dust marked as she was, her hair falling out of its careful styling where she'd pushed it roughly out of her way as she made her way through the ruins of the building, the effect she had been going for was still clear.

"Noin," Zechs started, "what…?"

"Different, isn't it?" Noin asked with a shameless grin. "I went out dancing," she added.

"Did you enjoy the club?" Treize asked her, stepping past a speechless Zechs with a speculative smile on his face.

Noin fought not to squirm as deep blue eyes swept over her slowly, head to foot. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

"You're welcome. You look delightful, Lucrezia."

The look Zechs shot Treize was so stunned and so outraged that Noin couldn't help tweaking her classmate a little. "You should see Lady Une, sir," she murmured, the off-balance sense of humour that had made her banter with Une in the car coming to the fore again. "I don't think anyone knows quite what to make of her."

Treize laughed. "If she's dressed like you, I imagine they don't. You are both all right, then?" he asked seriously, the relief in his voice clear.

"Fine, sir. I guess it was lucky we went out dancing."

"It appears so."

Zechs looked at the floor, guilt tweaking him – it hadn't even occurred to him that Noin or Une might have been caught in the explosions.

"Are you both all right, sir?" Noin enquired, suddenly noticing the makeshift strapping on Treize's arm. "We brought a medical kit…"

As she spoke, the young man who'd accompanied her stepped from where he'd been waiting silently at her side, slid off the backpack he was wearing and crouched on the floor to rummage through it. He seemed vaguely familiar to Treize – he'd seen the boy before somewhere, he was sure, but he couldn't place where.

"Thank you, Lieutenant…?" he enquired, as the young soldier stood up and handed the general what looked like a flask of water.

"Otto, sir. Adalardo Otto."

Treize blinked – that name was unmistakably Sancian. He looked over his shoulder at Zechs. "Your Lieutenant Otto?" he asked, as his memories fell into place and he recognised the tactful plane pilot that Zechs had later commandeered to be his aide.

Zechs nodded, confirming Treize's wondering. "Yes, sir."

Treize looked at the young pilot steadily for a moment, then smiled. "It's nice to finally meet you, Lieutenant. I'll have to make the time to get to know you better, I think."

Noin bit back a laugh as Otto flushed under the scrutiny. Even when he was being friendly, Treize managed to be intimidating.

The boy covered his discomfort by turning back to his pack and rummaging further. He handed Zechs a second bottle of water without really looking at him – a sure sign that their working relationship was deepening into a real friendship – and then yanked free a small case.

Noin took that as her cue to speak up again. "We need to get moving, sir," she prompted gently.

Treize looked at her. "Of course we do. I presume you have a way out for us?"

"I think so, sir. We should be able to get out the way we got in, but…" she glanced at Otto, recalling some of the piles of rubble they'd had to scramble over and one or two of the jumps they'd had to make over areas where the floor had given way. There was no doubt in either of their minds that the building was dangerously unstable and that they needed to get Treize and Zechs out of it before it collapsed altogether, but whether either senior officer could make it was another matter. "It's not going to be easy, sir," Noin continued. "Would you let us look at your injuries first?"

Treize looked at her for a moment, then nodded. "I doubt there's anything more you can do for my arm, but you may look. Quickly, though…"

"Yes, sir."

Otto stepped forward slowly, shooting one quick look at his general's arm and the splinting holding it in place before shaking his head. "I'm sorry, sir, but I doubt there's anything I can do there that hasn't already been done. I'm no Doctor, and moving it around unnecessarily might just make things worse. Is there anything else you think might be wrong?"

Treize simply shook his head. "I don't think so, Lieutenant. Thank you anyway."

"Sorry, sir." Otto repeated. "I could give you something… for the pain?"

"If you have anything you think will do any good."

The younger man rooted again in his kit and handed Treize a small strip of tablets. Treize spent a few seconds skimming the information on the back of the packaging, then pressed two of the tablets from the packet and used the water from the flask to swallow them.

"Thank you," he murmured, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. "If you would look to Zechs, now…"

Otto nodded, taking back the tablets as he turned to the blond. Noin had moved to stand next to Zechs at some point and was arguing with him quietly. "Otto, tell Zechs that he has to let you check if he's hurt!"

"Uhm, the general told me to, sir. Sorry, sir," he added as the taller man scowled.

Zechs sighed and shrugged to show his agreement. "All right, but I don't think I'm hurt…"

"You're bleeding, Zechs," Noin pointed out, raising hesitant fingers to touch the side of his face and wipe away drying blood.

"Am I?"

"You hadn't even felt it, had you?" she asked, knowing Zechs had probably spent so much of his energy on worrying about Treize that he hadn't let himself feel his own injuries.

"No…" He shook his head. "I know my head hurt when I came round. It still does now, but…"

Otto looked at him, swallowed nervously, and straightened his spine. "I need you to take your helmet off, sir," he asked.

Zechs glared at him. "What? No."

"Please, sir. You might have a concussion, or an injury I can't see."

"No."

"Zechs, don't be stubborn," Treize interjected softly, taking a step or two towards the three of them. "Time is of the essence and I may well need you before the night is done. Let Otto do his job."

"Sir…"

"I could make it an order, Major."

"Yes, sir, you could."

Noin watched as the two men gazed at each levelly, wondering who was going to come out on top.

Finally, Zechs slumped. "I'll let Noin look at me, will that do?"

"Perfectly." Treize smiled. "Thank you."

With a curt gesture, Zechs beckoned Noin further down the ruined corridor, half turned away and pulled his helmet from his head.

Treize, who'd known perfectly well why Zechs didn't want to reveal his face in present company long before the younger man had communicated the information with his gaze, kept his attention on Otto. There was no chance that someone so obviously from the Sanc aristocracy – whose very name, Adalardo, meant 'Noble' – was going to fail to recognise who Zechs truly was.

The lieutenant stiffened as the light caught on Zechs' face. "Oh, my God…" he breathed. "He can't be…"

Treize caught the younger man's arm with his good hand, holding him in place against the urge to run to the pilot and confirm his identity. A moment later, he felt Otto begin to tremble slightly and he tightened his grip. "Don't," he murmured.

Otto looked up at his commander, realised who it was that was holding onto him and coloured. "Sir, he's…!"

"I know who he is, Otto. This is not the time, nor the place," Treize commanded. "Say nothing to him."

The boy stared at him for a moment, then relaxed. "All right, sir. I can't believe he's still alive!"

"Believe it. Now, hush."

As Treize snapped at the boy, Zechs turned away from Noin's fussing hands with a shake of his head, slipped his helmet back on and made his way down the corridor.

Taking a deep breath, Noin jumped the gap in the staircase, refusing to look at the drop she would face if she missed her footing on the far side. A second later Zechs landed beside her and immediately walked down a step or two to distribute their combined weight, settling with his feet apart and one hand on the wall.

"That didn't seem so bad going the other way," Noin quipped, breathing out as her heart rate began to settle back to something approaching normal.

Zechs eyed the gap they'd covered and shot her a look that even through his mask was clearly disbelieving. There were only three or four of the steps missing between the corridor of the first floor and the remains of the staircase, but it seemed a much larger space looking at it from above. The next look he shot was at Treize, wondering how the older man was going to manage.

It wasn't an easy jump at the best of times, though Zechs had no doubt Treize would have coped under optimal conditions. Making it now, though, with one arm strapped up and increasingly painful, with his balance and his strength shot from the effects of the blast and as a result of the painkillers he had taken, could well prove beyond the general.

From the expressions on Noin's face, and Otto's, Zechs was fairly certain they were thinking the same thing.

"Any ideas?" Noin asked.

"None that won't hurt him," Zechs replied. "I'm sure I could catch him if he jumped far enough, but I don't think I could do it without jarring his arm."

Noin shook her head. "You couldn't, but I don't think we have a choice. We should get Otto down here so he can help catch. If I have to, I can go back up there to steady Treize till he jumps."

"I doubt you'll need to." Zechs lifted his head, and shouted their conclusion up to the two other men. Otto nodded his agreement immediately, and, after a moment, Treize consented with a weary gesture. Zechs scowled – the general was beginning to look really unwell and his fatigue was obvious to all of them.

The building seemed to creak as a tremor passed through the staircase.

Noin caught her breath, tensing at the noise. "I wouldn't hang around Otto," she called. "I don't know long we have left. Things are starting to sound pretty shaky."

Otto, leaning over the edge of the gap between himself and the two pilots, nodded quickly and gestured that Noin should be ready for the backpack he was still carrying. He suspended it by one of the shoulder straps for a second, waiting for it to stop swaying, before letting it go. Noin caught it in both hands with a small sound at the impact.

Feet light on the thick carpeting, she turned around to walk down a few steps – moving so her classmate could pass her – and her eyes widened. Zechs opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong, and then the swaying of the stairs beneath his feet and the dull, growing rumble told him what she must have seen.

"Oh, fuck," he cursed as the staircase began to collapse.

Yanking Noin back up the stairway with an arm around her waist, he tossed the pack she was holding into the gap, uncaring of where it fell, yelled for Otto to be ready and threw her slender figure as hard as he could up towards the other man. Otto caught her by her wrists, helped her get a purchase on the rough edge of the floor and pulled her up.

"Zechs!"

Treize's alarmed cry of his name warned the pilot that he was out of time, and as soon as Noin was clear of the edge of the floor he jumped, catching desperately at the ragged ends of the carpet. Strong hands caught his as the fabric began to give way and hauled him to relative safety as the staircase collapsed completely with a thundering roar and a cloud of choking dust.

Zechs sprawled on the floor of the corridor, panting and wincing at the feel of the torn skin on his hands and the bruises on his ribs until somebody grabbed hold of him by the back of his jacket and dragged him to his feet.

"Move, Major. We don't know how much longer the rest of this floor is going to hold out!" Otto hollered.

The younger man hard on his heels, Zechs gathered himself and ran, following Treize and Noin as they retraced the path they'd taken through the shattered passageways of the building in an attempt to reach the stairs. Piles of rubble that had been taken the first time at a brisk-but-cautious pace were tackled now at a mad scramble in an effort to put distance between themselves and the staircase.

They stopped, finally, in the junction of three corridors. Zechs slid down one wall to sit on the floor, listening to the ragged breathing of his companions and watching as Noin flicked her eyes over the passages in front of them, clearly trying to decide which the better option was.

Zechs frowned – what was there to think about? "The other staircase on this floor is that way," he told Noin, pointing down the corridor in question.

"I know," Noin replied. "But how do we know that it hasn't collapsed too?" Zechs blinked at her, and she continued, "We don't even know if we can get through to it, the corridors could be blocked. And, we don't know whether, even if we do get through and it is still intact, there's anyway out of the building once we get down the stairs."

"What choice do we have?" Zechs asked, wondering what else she was considering.

"You said the explosions shattered Treize's office windows," Noin told him, "and it looked that way from outside. If we can get back there, we can jump from them straight into the courtyard."

"What? Noin, we're on the first floor! It's a fifteen foot drop!"

Sections of the plaster from the ceiling suddenly began to crack and fall, showering the four of them with dust, flakes of paint and concrete chips as they scrambled to their feet.

Treize caught Zechs' arm for support as he stood. "It's better than staying in here, Zechs," he pointed out. "I doubt the place is going to hold together very much longer."

"Granted," Zechs conceded. He slipped a steadying arm around the general as they took off down the passage that would take them back to Treize's office.

The two senior officers had managed to make it beyond the junction on their own before Noin and Otto had found them. Neither of the erstwhile rescuers had seen the results of the explosions there yet and, as they passed the bodies of the dead guards, they cringed at the sight of the one pinned to the wall.

More ominous sounds from behind them prompted them to move on without comment and the four of them skidded through the door to the ruined office in remarkably short time.

Otto seemed to stop and stare. "Christ, sir, how did you survive this?"

Looking round, Zechs could see why he was asking – on second viewing, coming into it from the still-lit corridors, it looked much worse than it had appeared before they left. "Good luck, I suspect," he replied.

"Or something like." Otto glanced at the ceiling. "Somebody up there must like the two of you."

Treize laughed softly. "I hope so, Lieutenant. And I hope we can retain their favour a little while longer. How does it look?"

Whilst Zechs, Otto and Treize had been talking, Noin, moving very carefully, had picked her way around the wreckage of the desk and over the broken glass to the shattered windows. The heel of one booted foot made short work of the jagged remains of the glass in the frame, and she set her hands on the heavy wood and leaned forward to look down.

"It's not that bad of a drop," she said, smiling as she turned back to face the three men. "No worse than any of the ones we made in parachute training at the Academy."

"We were landing on sprung matting when we made those," Otto grumbled, "not broken glass and concrete. But you're right, we can't stay in here much longer and this looks like the only way out."

"We should be all right as long as we fall correctly," Noin reassured.

Zechs glanced at Treize, but forbore from pointing out the obvious. With his arm as it was, even if the older man did manage to control his drop and land properly, he was going to do more damage to the broken bone. "We could shout?" he asked. "If we got the attention of the rescue teams they might be able to sort out something better for us to land on."

Noin shook her head. "No-one's looking over here, Zechs. Before Une and I arrived, the Major in charge had decided that everyone in this building was to be presumed dead."

"Christ! All right…" Zechs agreed, bowing to the inevitable. "I'll go first." He crossed the room to the side of his classmate and steadied himself in the window, taking a deep breath as he looked down.

The sudden whine of mobile suit engines made him look up again and he stared in disbelief as a Leo came striding across the courtyard. Anger flared in him – the weight of the suit was shaking all the buildings around the quad, destabilising the already fragile structures even further.

As he glared, the floor shook under his feet again ominously, the ceiling began to rain more plaster dust and he tensed, knowing he'd run out of time to deliberate. He breathed out and pressed with his hands.

A second before he launched himself through the frame, the Leo came to a halt in front of the windows and, with a whine of servo's, lifted its arm and held it out towards the window, palm out flat.

Zechs stared in stunned admiration. Noin had been wrong, somebody had been looking and the intention of the pilot was obvious.

He glanced back into the room, looking at his companions as the ceiling began to groan above their heads. "Noin! Get over here!"

The girl appeared at his side, took one look at the suit, its hand and the gap between it and the windows, and swung herself out into the night air, scrabbling for purchase as she landed neatly and made her way towards the 'wrist' of the Leo. Otto appeared at Zechs' side, one arm around Treize, who seemed to be keeping his feet through sheer force of will.

"Go, Otto. I'm going to need you to catch us on the other side." Otto nodded, waited for Zechs to take Treize's weight from him, and then hopped onto the window frame, jumping the space to safety agilely and scrambling out of the way.

Zechs looked at Treize. In the glare of the operating lights, he was white as he leaned on his friend.

"Can you do this?" Zechs asked.

"Do I have a choice?"

Zechs forced a smile, and lost it as the room shook and the first large chunks of the ceiling gave way. "Not really."

"Well then." The general seemed to pull himself together, and jumped. It wasn't nearly as graceful, or as secure a landing as Noin or Otto had made – Zechs experienced one heart-stopping moment of horror as the older man wavered on the edge of the Leo's hand – and then Treize was on his knees in the middle of the Leo's palm, Otto clutching at his good arm to keep him balanced.

The growing rumble of the building finally crumbling spurred Zechs from his frozen observation. He ducked as sections of the roof began falling around the Leo. The suit's second hand rose, plunged into the side of the building not two feet above his head, holding the ceiling from caving in on him, and then he was in the air without conscious thought, the heated backwash from the Leo's jets whipping at his face as he fell.

He landed on the metal of the Leo with a jarring thud and caught his breath as the pilot of the suit pulled away from the disintegrating offices with quick steps. Shivering suddenly in the cold night air, he reached for Treize and took him from Otto, holding him as the Leo knelt and put its hand flat on the ground.

Cautiously, not wanting to cause themselves further injury after all they had been through so far, the four of them slid to the ground of the courtyard and stood, half in shock and panting as the suit hatch opened.

Lady Une rode the lift-wire to the ground beside them, seeming to ignore the fabric of her red, velvet dress as it tangled round her legs in the wind. "Oh, thank God, sir!" she breathed, looking at no one but Treize.

Despite his physical condition – which seemed a short push from complete collapse to Zechs – Treize managed to give her the incredulous look her outfit deserved, and then gave her a second as she turned away from him and threw her arms around Noin.


	5. Chapter 5

They were a stubborn set, Lady Une decided, watching the four she'd pulled from the crumbling offices. Hours after that particular drama, noteworthy even in a night full of dramas, they were still on base, insisting on being a part of the rescue effort.

In Noin's case, or in Otto's, the decision wasn't so foolish, though Une felt they both should have agreed to at least be looked at by the medical teams that had, finally, arrived. For Treize, and his ever-present partner in crime, Zechs, it was nothing short of stupidity.

Une shook her head, realising she was being unfair. Zechs, she knew, had spent almost as much time trying to get Treize to see sense as she had, and would probably have gone with the medics quite happily if it meant that the older man did too.

The general, however, had taken it into his head that it was his duty to stay until every last one of his surviving people had been evacuated, and there was nothing left for the search and rescue teams that had flown in to do but recover the dead. He was staying on his feet through a combination of sheer will power, adrenalin and the injections of painkillers and local anaesthetics he had repeatedly forced the medics to give him.

That the anaesthetics weren't half strong enough, and the painkillers were leaving him pale with nausea appeared to be irrelevant. He was staying.

Unfortunately, whilst Treize was staying, so was Zechs. And whilst Zechs was here, there was no way in hell Otto and Noin were leaving.

Une herself, of course, wasn't staying because of her worry for her friends. She had every reason to still be on base – despite her utterly impractical clothing and the fact that command of the place had been taken from her hours earlier by the officer in charge of the disaster team.

The last of the wounded personnel were finally being loaded into the rescue vehicles, just as the sky was beginning to lighten to the east. The driver nodded at Une, reassuring her that he'd drop his load off at one of the local hospitals and come back, and then he pulled away, the noise from his engine drowning out the conversation from the other side of the courtyard, and disappeared onto the road.

Une turned slowly, looking at the ruins of the base as she did so. The buildings worst hit would have to be demolished and it would take months of work before the place was useful again. Treize had rather dryly remarked, earlier in the evening, that when he'd said he thought it might be easier to flatten the place and start again, he hadn't meant for anyone to take him literally.

Une had thought the joke in rather poor taste, given just how many of their personnel were unaccounted for and presumed dead, but the sally had gotten a ragged laugh from the injured men he was talking to at the time, so she supposed she must be missing something.

She made her way across the quad to the bench were Zechs had forced Treize to rest, picking the skirt of her borrowed dress up to try to keep it from gathering any more dirt, wondering if she was going to get more shocked looks from her commander. The expression on his face when she'd first dropped from the Leo had been worth more than all the discomfort her clothes had cost her all evening. He'd looked thoroughly stunned, and more so when impulse had made her hug Noin.

Une didn't know what exactly had prompted that gesture – relief, she supposed, both at seeing Treize alive and that the other woman had managed to get him out without getting hurt herself. Noin had been warm in her arms, slim and strong as she hugged back – a reminder to Une of how long it had been since she had touched another human being like that – and hadn't appeared to mind the impromptu display of affection in the least.

Noin came towards her as Une approached the little group, smiling through her tiredness. "Is everything all right?" she asked.

Une nodded. "It seems to be. That was the last of the troops – the next car should be for Treize and Zechs. Hopefully they'll get in it without too much fuss, and go to the hospital to be seen. Treize's arm should have been looked at hours ago."

Noin nodded. "I know, but he wasn't listening. He still isn't, for that matter. He commandeered a computer from the medics before they left – he's spent the last half hour talking on the emergency channels to Luxembourg, making arrangements for the troops."

Une sighed. "That's my job, but never mind. What did he come up with?"

Noin shrugged. "The uninjured ones, and those who are released from hospital will be reassigned to other bases. The officers will go back to HQ to await orders, Otto amongst them. Treize says he's transferring to his London house for the moment, and we're going with him apparently."

"The only place that man is going is the hospital!" Une snapped, and Noin held up her hands placatingly.

"Don't shoot the messenger, Une. I'm only telling you what I heard. We can't stay here, in any case. Zechs is the only one of us that has a habitable room at the moment."

Une blinked – it hadn't even occurred to her yet that her rooms, like Treize's, were in one of the buildings that had been damaged. Wondering suddenly if she had any clothes other than what she was wearing, she scowled. "So much for my plans to get changed."

Noin laughed. "Fortunately, my things are all in Zechs's rooms. Your uniform is there, and we're nearly the same size so I'm sure I can lend you enough clothes to get through a couple of days until you can go shopping."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." Noin slipped her arm through Une's and started walking her towards the door of the pilot's accommodation. "Treize wants us to gather up our stuff, and Zechs's, and go over to his house. He's notified the staff."

Une balked. "But…" She stopped, not wanting to admit to Noin that she'd been intending to go to the hospital with Treize.

"He'll be fine, Une. It's a broken arm, that's all. Zechs is his next of kin anyway, and he'll be there. There's no reason for you to go."

"Zechs is his next of kin?" Une asked, surprised.

Noin shrugged. "According to Treize, and to the medical records the medics had for him, yes. I know Treize is Zechs's. It's not so surprising, they are related."

"I know. I just hadn't thought…" She sighed. "Come on then."

On the far side of the courtyard, seeing Noin catch hold of Lady Une and divert her away from her course towards the three men and into one of the still-standing buildings, Otto swallowed and looked at his two senior officers.

The shock of discovering Zechs's true identity had yet to really wear off, and although Treize had told him not to say anything, he knew he had to. He also knew that now, with the base deserted and no one but the three of them to hear, was most likely the best opportunity he'd ever have.

"Excuse me, sir. May I say something?"

Treize turned his head at the politely phrased question from the youngest of their group, and sighed. The question had been directed at him, so in theory he could say no. In practice he knew that, however much he wanted to forbid Otto from raising this subject, it wouldn't do any good.

"Go ahead, Lieutenant."

Otto came nervously to his feet, swallowing as he looked at Zechs. "Would you mind removing your helmet, sir?" he asked, much as he had the first time.

Zechs shook his head. "The answer stands, Otto. No."

"Please, sir. I…I already know who you are."

Zechs flinched. "I'm nobody other than Zechs Marquise," he insisted.

"Of course you are, sir. I know…"

"I don't care what you know!" Anger made Zechs's voice a lash as he turned away and walked a few hurried paces from his companions.

Treize sighed. "There were reasons I didn't want you to raise this with him, Otto. He doesn't react well to reminders of his past. What happened to him…wasn't pretty."

Otto was staring. "I know that, sir. If you don't mind me asking, how is it you know so much?"

Treize shook his head. "Recall your Peerage, please, and remember who your last Queen was before she married – of course I know." He paused. "Fortunately… or you would just have confirmed his identity to an Alliance Commander."

The boy paled horribly. "Oh, God… I didn't think… I just…Sir, we thought he died!"

"You were meant to."

Otto raised his voice a little, letting his words carry to Zechs's reluctant ears. "My father was one of the King's closest friends, his senior aide, sir… He came back from the palace that night with his clothes ruined, blood-stained… said he'd seen Alliance Officers shoot the King, and slit the Queen's throat."

Zechs shivered, his fingers clenching at his sides.

Otto carried on as though he hadn't noticed. "There was no sign of the Prince and Princess, my father said. He made my mother pack a bag and leave the house, made her take my brother and me to her sister's in Spain. He stayed behind, said it was his duty as a nobleman. We found out later that he shot himself when the Alliance broke into our house."

"Oh, God…" Zechs breathed, voice shaking. Impulsively, he turned around to face the younger man, but he didn't come any closer.

"I'm sorry," Treize murmured, forcing himself to listen to the boy's story, and the pain in his lover's voice, impassively. Unwittingly, Otto had given him pieces of information about the attack on the Palace that he hadn't had before, but Treize could wish the lieutenant hadn't had to relive his own ruined childhood to do so. Knowing his father had killed himself must have been a difficult burden for the boy to bear. Slowly, he rested his good hand on Otto's arm.

Otto scowled. "He did what he had to. My grandmother was a Peacecraft cousin, sir. The Alliance wouldn't have let my father live – they couldn't afford to have anyone left who carried the blood of the royal family." He straightened suddenly. "And now, completely by chance, I'm doing the job I was raised to do…"

Treize smiled, hearing Zechs shuffle behind him, wondering how the pilot would take this sudden discovery of a living relative. "Yes, I suppose you are." He waited a moment. "I said I wanted to get know you better, didn't I?" he asked rhetorically.

Otto looked at him, startled. "I suppose you did, sir, at that. I don't imagine you expected all this, though."

Treize laughed. "Actually," he murmured, "I rather did. Not the finer details, of course, but Zechs had mentioned you were from Sanc, and your name is rather a giveaway of your birth."

"Is it?"

"Somewhat. Milliardo, Adalardo… I have to confess I'm wondering now how many other revenge-driven Sanc nobles I have amongst my troops."

Otto shrugged. "I don't know, sir. A few, I would imagine. You have rather created the perfect vehicle for it."

Treize smiled slowly. "Well, yes. Of course I have. Otto…"

"Yes, sir?"

"I presume I don't need to tell you to keep this information to yourself? I can imagine how tempting it must be to tell your family, but the more people that know who Zechs really is, the more danger he will be in."

"No, sir, I understand that. I won't say a word."

"Good."

Treize forgot what he had been about to add as movement behind him made him look around.

Slowly, Zechs closed the space he had put between himself and the other two men until he was level with the bench Treize was sitting on. Curious as to what was going to happen next, Treize watched as Zechs raised his hand and lifted his mask away, revealing his face clearly in the growing light.

Sometime during the course of the night, Zechs had lost his red jacket – Treize had recollections of the younger man handing it to one of the wounded pilots to use as a makeshift blanket. He stood now only in his uniform trousers and the white t-shirt he'd been wearing under his coat. It was a far cry from the ceremonial splendour of the Sanc royals, but it was close enough.

Never taking his eyes off Otto, Zechs set the helmet down on the bench and then moved around it.

As he approached, Treize could feel Otto struggling with himself, fighting hundreds of years of breeding and a lifetime's training that was telling him in every fibre of his body to go with gut instinct and drop to one knee in front of his lost Prince.

"He won't appreciate it," Treize murmured, squeezing with his hand before letting the boy go completely.

Zechs stopped a few paces away from Otto, still looking at him steadily, the expression in his eyes wary. "Otto…" he began.

In lieu of a reply, the boy came to perfect attention, but instead of saluting he bowed from the waist – the formal, courtly bow of noble to royal. "Yes, sir?" he asked when he straightened, nothing about his voice indicating anything odd had happened.

Zechs stared at him, eyes stunned. Slowly, something inside him shifting subtly, he reached out, caught the shorter man by the shoulders and shook his head. "Please don't do that."

Otto nodded. "Not again, sir, I know. Not until…"

"Never. I won't accept it from you. Not from you, and not from any other who made the choice we made. For that, we're equals."

Otto swallowed. "Yes, sir," he breathed.

Treize smiled, feeling his own aristocratic blood – a lineage no less proud or noble than that of his companions – call to him to react as Duke to the Prince in front of him. It took a great deal of will power to stay seated against his first response to stand and pay homage as Otto had. It shouldn't have happened here, in the ruins of a military base, this first acknowledgement of Zechs's heritage, but Treize couldn't deny that he was glad that it had.

A moment later, Zechs dropped his hands, picked up his helmet and slid it back on, shifting fluidly back to Major Marquise with the gesture. The glimpse of the future was gone as swiftly as it had arrived, the Peacecraft King buried in the guise of Oz soldier.

Treize sighed, and then looked up as the rumble of a car engine told them their ride had arrived.


	6. Chapter 6

Zechs looked up from the book he was reading, a soft smile touching his lips as he saw that the latest arrival to the small lounge was Treize.

"Good morning, Zechs," the older man greeted. "Did you sleep well?"

Zechs closed the heavy volume on his lap, marking his place with a strip of ribbon. "Well enough. You?"

Treize answered him with a dismissive gesture of his right hand, a motion the general had used for years, on and off, and had become rather fond of over the past few days. With his left arm immobilised and strapped as it healed, it was as close as Treize could come to shrugging – and it was not an answer to the question Zechs had asked.

"If you're still having trouble sleeping…" the pilot began, and stopped sharply when Treize glanced at him.

"I'm managing well enough, considering. What were you reading?"

Zechs frowned, wondering whether to press his point despite the older man's clear hint to change the subject.

The doctors at the hospital – when Treize finally consented to be taken there – had quickly diagnosed the injury to the general's arm as anything other than a simple break, and had overridden his protests by sheer force of numbers, knocked him out and wheeled him off to have it attended to. They had left a nurse to explain to Zechs that 'comminuted fracture' meant that the radial bone – the bone on the thumb side of Treize's arm – wasn't so much broken as shattered, fragmented into pieces, and that it would take quite some work to make it heal well.

The doctor in charge of the case had made an especial point of telling both men that Treize was rather lucky to be living when he did. Without modern medical technology, the general would almost certainly have lost some of the movement and strength in the arm – would never have been able to pilot a mobile suit again. As it was, though it would take a good two or three months, most likely, and wouldn't be comfortable, a full recovery was predicted.

"Zechs? What were you reading?" Treize asked again, turning away from the coffee he was pouring himself, to look at the younger man.

The question jolted Zechs from his reverie and he offered Treize a weak smile by way of apology. "My birthday present," he answered. "This is the first time I've had time to sit down and do more than glance at a couple of pages."

The older man grimaced his acknowledgment of that – none of them had seen much of anything other than work since Christmas, and whilst Une and Treize himself had been swamped with paperwork, the general had found himself forced to send Zechs into one combat zone after another. Grateful as he was for the blonde's rapidly developing command abilities, he hated having to send him into danger so often. "I can well believe that. Are you enjoying it?"

Zechs glanced down at the age-worn, still beautiful cover of the book and his face took on an expression somewhere between a frown and a smile, as though he couldn't decide whether he was pleased or not. "Somewhat. I'm finding it a little… odd."

Treize turned back to his coffee. "Odd? Why would you say that? It is merely a volume of assorted poetry."

"Yes, but…" Zechs shrugged slightly. "Have you read it?"

"Not that particular volume, but I know most of the titles in it. Some of them I'm quite fond of."

Zechs scowled and got to his feet to cross the room, taking the sugar bowl and spoon that Treize was struggling with from the older man's hand and neatly dropping the required amount into the steaming, black liquid. Treize took the cup from him with a small smile and sipped as they made their way back to the sofa Zechs had been sat on when Treize first came into the room.

The older man set the cup down and picked the book up from where Zechs had left it, using the ribbon bookmark to open it to the page the pilot had been reading. "Hmm. 'I watched thee, by Lord Byron.'" He glanced up. "Byron, Zechs? You find Byron odd? I admit the man had his moments, but you're hardly unfamiliar with his work. Why choose now to decide to find it strange?"

Zechs took the book from him, tracing a finger over the age-yellowed paper, scanning the words. "Treize. The Byron isn't strange, though I don't know if it suits you. None of the poems are, individually. It's as a collection that I find them unusual. There seems to be something of a theme, but it doesn't seem likely that it's one you would have chosen. That's why I asked if you'd actually read the book."

Treize had raised a curious eyebrow as the younger man spoke, and now he smiled. "Byron doesn't suit me?" he asked. "Truly? I've always thought I'd have gotten along with the man rather well. I had a phase in my teenage years where I rather idolised him."

"I remember," Zechs commented dryly.

"I imagine you do. One of my more intolerably pretentious periods I have no doubt. Still…"

Zechs sighed. "I'm sure that you and he would have been great friends, though I have to wonder if you could have gone as far as sleeping with your own sister!"

"I don't have a sister to sleep with, but you and I _are_ cousins."

"Treize!"

"What? It's simply the truth."

Zechs could feel his skin heating – why, he had no idea. The blood relationship between himself and the older man was hardly all that close. Well within the degree the aristocracy generally considered acceptable for marriage. Further, he knew the general was trying to prompt a reaction from him and would only be worse in the future if Zechs gave it to him.

As predicted, Treize laughed softly at him for a moment, but the expected continuation of the teasing was not forthcoming, and after a moment, the older man sobered and turned back to the book. "In seriousness, Zechs, what is troubling you? I'd rather hoped that you'd like the book."

"I do. I just… I can't understand what you were trying to say with it, that's all. It isn't like you to give a present that has no meaning – not to me, at least – but I simply don't know what it is."

"Ah." Treize glanced away for a space, then looked back, something shadowing his eyes. "Forgive me, then. What message there was, is no longer relevant. I bought this book for you quite some time ago. Years ago, in fact… and never quite had the courage to give it to you. It was to have been my way of telling you how I felt for you." He waved his hand again in place of a dismissive shrug. "By your birthday, you already knew, of course, so it seemed fitting that I should hand it over at last. You may still find some enjoyment in it."

Zechs stared at the volume for a moment, then looked up. "I will, and thank you."

"You're welcome." Treize sat up a little straighter. "It's curious that I should find you reading that particular poem, as it happens. It is, perhaps, the most direct statement of my intent in the whole book."

"It is?"

"It is." The general pressed the book back into the pilot's hands and stood up. "Read it. I'm going to get dressed, so I can take you out somewhere. You can tell me what you thought of it over lunch."

Quick footsteps took the older man to the door of the room, and as he closed it behind him, Zechs opened the book again and looked the words in front of him.

* * *

Treize's 'take you out somewhere' had, it rapidly became apparent, been his way of informing Zechs that he was to keep the older man company whilst he went shopping.

Reappearing twenty minutes after he had walked away, the general had chivvied Zechs into finding his coat and had summoned a car to take the two of them the short distance between Treize's London townhouse and the city's shops.

Dismissing the driver, Treize had led the younger man in a slow stroll along the heaving streets, pausing occasionally to look at things and giving the pilot plenty of time to wonder what exactly was going on. Though it was obvious that Treize was intending to replace the clothes and other personal items he had lost in the bombing, Zechs wondered why he had chosen to do so in person. It had been years since either man had gone shopping in this fashion – the vast majority of their clothes were tailored for them, and both of them relied on domestic staff for most other things.

Treize must have caught his puzzled glances, because he turned away from the window display he was perusing and smiled. "Sweet as it is of you to lend them to me, and much as I find an odd comfort in wearing them, I can't keep borrowing your clothes Zechs," he explained. "I do need to replace my own wardrobe."

"I realize that, but why in this fashion? You could have enough general things shipped from one of your other houses to cover you for the moment, and your tailors swore they'd work as quickly as they could on the rest. There's really no need for you to make this effort."

The older man shook his head. "Say, then, that I wanted to. An odd impulse or some such," he argued. "I simply woke up and couldn't bear the thought of being trapped in the house for another full day – Une and Noin have become quite the Mother Hen double act of late, and I'm afraid I'm rather in danger of losing my temper with them. This is as good a reason as any for going out, and it might prove fun. How long has it been since either of us did something so ordinary?"

"A long time, but are you sure this is a good idea?" Zechs asked.

Treize waved his hand. "It was only an idea, Zechs. If you're so against it we can go back."

The pilot shook his head, shifting himself so that he was standing between his friend and the bulk of the pushing, shoving crowd. "I don't mind, Treize. I'm just worried that it might not be a good idea for you. It's rather busy, and a knock to your arm would be…"

"Rather painful, I should imagine," Treize finished for him, smiling. "I'm aware. I promise I'll let you stay between the great-unwashed masses and me. I'll even let you carry any purchases I happen to make."

Zechs grinned. "Trust you to take advantage of my noble intentions! You can have the damn things delivered, as you always do, and be grateful for my company."

Treize smiled in return. "Since it was your company I most wanted, my friend, I believe I can agree to that arrangement quite happily. Is there anywhere in particular you'd like to look?" he asked as they began walking again, making slow progress through the bustle of the shoppers.

"No, not really. What about you? This was your idea, so you must have some thoughts of what you wanted to accomplish?"

Treize shook his head. "Nothing much, really. As I said, it was something of an impulse." In the distance a clock bell began striking the hour. "Perhaps a short browse through some of the shops and then lunch somewhere? I don't know about you, but I haven't eaten yet."

"I had breakfast, but it was some time ago," Zechs answered automatically, then frowned. "You puzzle me, sometimes, you know."

The general raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly. "Only sometimes?" he quipped. "What about me has you puzzled this time?"

"Food. These last few weeks Une and I have almost had to force you to stop to eat. I know there were entire days when you didn't have so much as a biscuit, and you've never been any different. Food just doesn't seem to interest you at all."

"Yes, so?"

"This is the third time since the base got blown up that you've taken me out to eat somewhere. You were the same in Sweden, and at your house over Christmas. You only seem to want to eat when you aren't doing anything. When you're actually busy and probably need more food, you won't touch the stuff even if someone brings it directly to you."

"You've answered your own question," Treize commented with a low chuckle. "I enjoy eating, but only when I can take my time about it, and have something that's interesting and well prepared. Eating simply because I have to is boring, and commissary food is hardly inspiring, so I don't bother with it."

The noon sunlight caught Zechs' eyes so that Treize could see them sparkling even through the dark glasses the younger man was wearing to conceal his identity. "So I should resign myself to the pair of us getting horribly fat should we ever retire from the military, then?" the pilot asked, and Treize laughed.

"Certainly not. I wouldn't allow it. Think how many things we wouldn't be able to do if we were to get out of shape? No, I will simply have to create new ways for you to work it all off."

"Ah."

* * *

"I read the poem."

Treize looked up from the soup he was adding pepper to, and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"You told me to tell you what I thought of it over lunch," Zechs continued, idly moving his spoon through his own soup.

"I did, yes. And?"

The younger man shifted in his seat, scowling down at his food as though there was something suddenly wrong with the minestrone he had ordered. "It's very… affecting," he admitted. "I'm not sure…"

Treize tilted his head to one side quizzically. "You don't like it?"

"No. No, I like it, but…" Zechs hesitated. "It's painful. I don't know why Byron wrote it, or who he was writing about, but it seems so hopeless. Almost despairing. I don't think I like the idea that you could identify with it so strongly."

Treize smiled. "Worried about me?" he asked quietly. "You don't need to be, you know."

"Maybe not. I think I'm angry at myself for being so self-absorbed as well. You must have been hurting to choose that poem, and I was so busy worrying about myself that I missed it completely."

"You were meant to," Treize confirmed. "I could say the same about myself, which is far less defensible."

"I don't see why it should be," Zechs countered. He stirred his soup again and then took a mouthful. "The thing is," he started when he'd swallowed, "if I could miss you feeling that bad once, I have to wonder how many other times I've missed it."

Treize smiled slightly, the look in his eyes teasing. "Oh, never."

"You're lying."

"Can you prove it?"

Zechs sat back in his chair a little. "Should I have to?" he asked seriously.

The older man looked at him for a moment, his midnight gaze gentle, and then reached out and caught Zechs's hand in his own, lifted it and brushed his lips across the back of it, the touch fleeting and feather light. "The poem, love," he prompted. "You were telling me what you thought of it."

The pilot was still for a breath or two before he shook himself. "I have," he replied, looking down at the hand Treize had captured in his and hadn't released.

Treize nodded. "You really think it seems despairing?"

"Yes, in its way. It's far from happy."

"Oh, it's not happy, I'll give you that. But I never thought of it as despairing… more, determined."

Zechs frowned. "Determined? I don't see where you get that from."

Treize smiled again. "Don't you? Listen, then."

Without letting Zechs's hand go, and without raising his voice so the people on the next table could hear him, he began to recite the poem.

"_I watched thee when the foe was at our side  
Ready to strike at him, or thee and me  
Were safety hopeless rather than divide  
Aught with one loved, save love and liberty._

_I watched thee in the breakers when the rock_  
_Received our prow and all was storm and fear_  
_And bade thee cling to me through every shock_  
_This arm would be thy bark or breast thy bier._

_I watched thee when the fever glazed thine eyes_  
_Yielding my couch, and stretched me on the ground_  
_When overworn with watching, ne'er to rise_  
_From thence, if thou an early grave hadst found._

_The Earthquake came and rocked the quivering wall_  
_And men and Nature reeled as if with wine_  
_Whom did I seek around the tottering Hall_  
_For thee, whose safety first provide for thine."_

Zechs watched him closely, wondering at the slight roughness to his friend's usually smooth tenor. Treize didn't hesitate over the words – his recitation was absolutely flawless in that regard – but there was a catch in his voice that leant the whole thing an air it would otherwise have lacked. That the poem had meant something to the older man, had touched something inside him, was completely clear.

Treize's voice seemed to lose a notch in volume as he came to the last two verses, but it made up for it in intensity.

"_And when convulsive throes denied my breath  
The faintest utterance to my fading thought  
To thee, to thee, even in the grasp of death  
My spirit turned. Ah! oftener than it ought._

_Thus much and more, and yet thou lov'st me not,_  
_And never wilt, Love dwells not in our will_  
_Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot_  
_To strongly, wrongly, vainly, love thee still."_

He looked at the pilot steadily for a moment as he finished, then dropped his gaze back to his bowl and tried to pull his hand away. Zechs turned his over quickly and caught the long fingers in his own, pressing firmly. "Not wrongly, not in vain," he whispered.

Treize pressed back. "Not anymore," he agreed. "Come on. I want to go home."

Zechs let him go, standing automatically when the older man did and following him, first to the counter to pay, then out of the door. "Treize?" he asked when they were standing on the street again.

The general turned to face him with a warm smile. "I don't want to go shopping any more," he explained. "I have the sudden urge to spend the rest of the day finding poetry for us to read to each other, preferably tucked up somewhere warm and private, and I can't do that in the centre of London." He pulled his slim phone from a pocket. "Assuming you don't object, of course?"

"Of course I don't," Zechs agreed, smiling.


	7. Chapter 7

The fire Treize had lit snapped in the grate, popping and crackling as the water left in the wood was caught and consumed by the heat of the flames, and cast a pleasantly warm and shifting light through the library. The general had admitted whilst he was doing it that he was lighting the fire more for its atmospheric effect than for any heat it might give off, and though it did take the evening chill out of the air, the fire was most successful in lending the small room a snug and inviting feel.

The flickering light glinted off the gold leaf embossing on the book in Treize's hand and off the copper tints in his hair as the general shifted his body lazily, sighing softly. Zechs looked down at him, and tugged the book from his fingers gently, closing it quietly and setting it on the floor at the side of the couch.

As Treize had promised, the two of them had spent the afternoon and the early evening together in the library, talking quietly much as they had numerous times over the years, occasionally finding odd poems to show each other or to read out loud. Though they had started the afternoon in separate armchairs, facing each other under the shelves of books on the back wall, as evening drew in and the light began to fade, Treize had moved the both of them to the sofa in front of the grate and lit the fire. They had settled themselves against the arm rests at opposite ends to begin with, but had slowly stretched out until they were lying full length together, Treize with the latest book in his good hand and one of Zechs's tucked around his waist and providing support for his broken arm.

It was the reverse of the position they usually slept in, when they actually shared a bed to sleep, but it was surprisingly comfortable – perhaps more comfortable than having Treize be the one to hold Zechs. Sometime over the months of their relationship, the blond had achieved what Treize had always claimed he would, and grown enough that he was now a good inch or so taller than his friend, who wasn't overly short himself.

Treize shifted and sighed again, and Zechs smiled as he pulled the throw from the back of the settee and tucked it around his friend.

The two of them had been perusing selections from the book Zechs had set aside for an hour or more before Treize had quite high-handedly informed the younger man that he was giving himself a sore throat and that Zechs should read to him for a change. The pilot had agreed, though he had warned Treize that his reading voice wasn't half so good as the older man's was, and had taken up reading from the page the general held open for him, concentrating on the words so he didn't make a mistake.

Somewhere in the middle of Zechs's reading Treize had obviously decided he was comfortable and had fallen asleep, resting against his friend like some living stuffed toy, warm and breathing softly. The younger man hadn't noticed until he reached the end of the verse he was reading, and then he had glanced down to see Treize looking more relaxed than he had in months, the faint lines that had been starting to form at the corners of his eyes smoothed away by the truest, deepest sleep Zechs had seen him in for a long time.

Zechs watched him for a few moments more, and then dropped a light kiss on Treize's cheek and began to ease himself out from behind the general, taking care to free his long hair first so he didn't lean on it by mistake and yelp from the pain.

Treize protested the loss of Zechs's body heat and support by rolling on his back and making some small whimpering noise in the back of his throat. Zechs caught his injured arm in gentle hands and settled it against the older man's chest, before pulling the throw more closely around Treize and tucking it in again.

The pilot came to his feet easily, spent a few moments stoking and banking the fire, and then crept from the library on silent feet, resolving to go back in an hour or so to check on his lover.

The door clicked closed behind him as he made his way down the corridor. He hesitated at the two-way junction at the end of it, wondering whether to turn for the stairs, the first floor and his bedroom, or for the west wing of the house and the sitting and dining rooms that would, most likely, be where Noin and Une – if they were in – would be.

Thoughts of the two women made him frown a little as he chose to head for the possibility of company. The pair had been behaving strangely since just after the base bombing – if their behaviour that night in particular weren't already strange enough – both with each other and around Treize and himself. Several times Zechs had seen them shoot each other odd looks, something about them almost speculative and knowing and, in the three weeks the four of them had been staying at the townhouse, the women hadn't managed to disturb any of the stolen hours of privacy he'd had with the general once.

Feminine laughter, abruptly ended, clued him to the fact that at least one of his female housemates, Noin from the giggle, was currently in the smallest of the lounges on this floor, and he lengthened his stride until he could grip the door handle in his hand and turn it.

The door opened with a well-oiled glide and Zechs walked into the room in time to see Une and Noin, seated side by side on the couch, jump apart guiltily. He stopped in the doorway, puzzled. "Good evening… I'm not disturbing you, am I?" he asked, almost certain that he was.

Noin coloured a little but shook her head determinedly. "Of course not. Come in – where's Mr Treize?"

Zechs explained briefly as he sat down in the armchair facing the sofa, and watched as Noin grinned and Une's eyes widened in surprise.

"Cute," Noin quipped. "We were wondering what the two of you had been doing in there all day."

"Noin," Une chided gently, laying a hand on the other woman's arm. Zechs stared, taken aback – the gesture and the tone of voice were pure Treize, used to Noin in exactly the way the older man would have to Zechs – but Une didn't appear to notice as she continued, "I'm glad he's getting some proper sleep, he's going to need it. Marshall Noventa had his aide-de-camp contact me this morning. He's set up a meeting for tomorrow, to discuss the attack on the base, the results of the investigations and what to do by way of reprisals." She scowled. "I don't think it's going to be a short meeting, or an easy one. The aide made a point of telling me that the Alliance is going for a blood-for-blood style of response."

Zechs felt himself tensing. "How does the Marshall expect Treize to attend this meeting? There's no way he's fit to fly to Luxembourg, not with that arm. Can't you or I go instead?"

Une shook her head. "That's not an option. I've already been ordered to attend in my capacities as Treize's aide and as head of his intelligence network.

Zechs scowled. "Then, could I…?"

"I'm afraid not. You've been ordered to attend, too."

"Oh, lovely. What, then? I'm not letting Treize get on a plane until his arm has healed, so…"

"Don't worry about it," Une interrupted, holding up a hand to forestall any further protest. "The Marshall has kindly agreed to come to London to hold the meeting. He was very understanding about not complicating a healing injury… after I got Treize's physician to contact him and make the point."

Zechs sighed and shook his head. "Does Treize know yet?"

"I haven't seen him since I got the call, so I haven't told him, no. Perhaps you could? 10 o'clock tomorrow morning at Horse Guards. Dress Uniform is not required."

"How very kind!" Zechs snapped. "Perhaps the Marshall will comprehend how serious things are when he sees that Treize isn't in _any_ uniform, because he won't be. He doesn't currently _have_ a uniform to wear." He collapsed back against the cushions of the chair and sighed. "Why do I have to be there, anyway?"

Une shrugged. "It makes sense if there's going to be talk of an immediate mission to enact some sort of retaliation. With Treize injured, and therefore technically on the inactive list, you have operational command of the Specials. Any mission would have to be authorised by you before it could proceed."

"I… _what_?!" Zechs spluttered, staring at the slender woman in disbelief. It was of no comfort to him that Noin appeared to be as stunned as he was.

Une offered him a small, knowing smile. "Didn't you know?" she asked, and it was obvious that she'd known he didn't.

Zechs shook his head, sitting up. "No, of course not! I thought _you_ were…"

"No. Mr Treize issued it as a sealed, standing order a few months ago. In the event of his death, or his incapacity, effective command passes to you, with me as your aide as I am to him. Only in the event of both of you being out of action do I have command."

Noin blinked suddenly. "That explains why you asked Major Foche where Zechs was before you took over," she murmured.

Neither of the people in the room with her seemed to notice.

"How does he think that's going to work? You outrank me!" Zechs protested.

Une nodded. "Yes, but I don't imagine I will for long, and I'm not a combat officer, not really." She sat back. "You'll have to take it up with Treize if you want to know anymore than that."

"Yes, I imagine I will," Zechs agreed, and got to his feet. "Excuse me, please."

Une followed him with her eyes until he left the room and then she turned back to Noin with a rueful smile. "Somehow, I don't think he appreciates it as much as he should."

"Doesn't look like it," Noin agreed. "Nothing we can do about it, though. What do you want to do for the rest of the night?"

Une allowed her smile to grow slowly. "Now, what a silly question."

* * *

Zechs closed the sitting room door behind him and allowed his breath to escape him in a rush as he tried to wrap his mind around what Une had just told him.

What exactly did Treize think he was doing? How could he imagine Zechs would ever agree to take command of the Specials?

Taking hurried steps away from the sitting room, Zechs allowed himself, for one sickening, terrifying moment, to imagine what would have happened if Treize had been killed in the attack on the base as had been so clearly intended. Would Une have told Zechs of his new job when he was rescued, or would he have been informed by a comm. call from Alliance Headquarters? In the middle of grieving for his lost friend, as he would have been, did Treize think having command dropped on him would have helped?

He snorted and shook his head. Just how much sway would Treize's 'sealed, standing orders' have with the Alliance in any case? Treize might have been able to ignore the facts, but Zechs couldn't and he doubted Marshall Noventa would have either. Six months ago Zechs had been a Captain who had never held a significant independent command for any length of time – now, Treize thought he was capable of commanding the whole of the Specials?

Zechs hadn't needed the knowing, mocking nature of Une's smile to tell him it was ridiculous. Treize stretched the bounds of credibility at 23. Zechs was barely 18, not yet four years out of the Academy, and he was under no illusions about whether he had Treize's overwhelming gift for generalship.

Zechs shook his head again, and then stopped as a chill swept through him. What would have happened if the Alliance had agreed to Treize's choice of replacement? They must be willing to give it some credence or Zechs wouldn't be needed at the meeting tomorrow. If the Alliance were going to ignore Treize's request, then Zechs wouldn't even have temporary operational command. In the event that something happened to the older man's recovery and he was no longer able to serve, it would be poor practice to replace Zechs with someone else. Far better for morale to confirm the temporary commander in the post.

Far better for smoothness of transition as well if Zechs were given the job. Aside from Lady Une, no other officer in the Specials had worked so closely with Treize, for so long. It occurred to him suddenly that Treize had spent months working with General Catalonia before the man died, in preparation for Treize's takeover when he retired.

It was just possible that the Alliance would have given command to Zechs, and it went against every understanding between the two men that Treize would even consider putting Zechs in a position that would be so guaranteed to draw attention to him. Zechs had seen the number of press conferences and photo-calls Treize had to put up with. Hardly a week went by without some journalistic piece about him, either in the press or on the news networks. Every detail of his life was open to perusal. The Specials were the glamorous elite of the Alliance military – idolised by children all over the Earth Sphere and talked about by adults because of their mobile suits, their style of dress, their aristocratic backgrounds. Treize, as General Catalonia had been before him, was the public face of the Specials, and something of a media darling.

Zechs, as Treize's top pilot, already came in for more scrutiny than was really safe. He was known, if only in military circles, and if only by reputation. To make him the Commander-in-Chief of the Specials would be to make him known to the world at large.

It was beyond any ability of Zechs's to understand why Treize would think the younger man could survive such exposure without somebody, somewhere seeing through the cover he hid behind and revealing his true identity to the entire Earth Sphere. Such a thing would put the pilot's life in danger from more directions than he could count and Zechs simply couldn't imagine why Treize would do it.

And to do it without even having the courtesy to inform the younger man?!

The act of almost walking into the heavy, dark wood of a door he hadn't seen told Zechs he needed to calm down a little, and he turned on his heel to pace and take deep, regular breaths until he felt the surge of outrage fade a little. It wasn't especially shocking when further study revealed the door to be that of the library, and that he'd made his way back here without really thinking about it.

A final deep breath allowed Zechs to pull himself under some sort of control, and he opened the door gently. However much he needed to have this out with the older man, Zechs had no intention of disturbing the sleep Treize so badly needed if he was to face Marshall Noventa on equal terms.

Tiptoeing into the room, Zechs stood for a moment and looked down at his friend, before settling himself into a cosy looking armchair and forcing himself to let the atmosphere of the room soothe him until Treize woke up.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Treize woke slowly a couple of hours later, as the clock in the hallway marked off ten in the evening. Zechs glanced up from the book he was reading as the older man stirred and shifted, his clothes hissing against the smooth surface of the leather as he moved, and smiled when sapphire eyes flickered open.

He set the book aside and stood up, taking the two steps between the couch and his chair on quiet feet, and went to his knees on the rug in front of the sofa, waiting for Treize to notice he was there.

"Good evening," Zechs murmured when the general glanced at him blearily, still half asleep.

"Good evening… what time is it?"

"Just gone ten." Zechs put a hand out and helped the general sit up and swing round so that he could put his feet on the floor.

Treize rubbed his good hand over his face and stretched. "How long have I been asleep?"

"A couple of hours or so. You looked like you needed it."

"I imagine I did." He winced as the pull of his stretching tugged on his injured arm, making it flicker warning pain at him. The flare of sharp pain settled into the low, dull ache he was rapidly becoming familiar with and Treize sighed. "I could have sworn you were behind me," he murmured, standing up and side stepping to avoid Zechs's still-kneeling figure.

"I was. I didn't know how long you were going to sleep for, so I thought I would move myself before either of us got too comfortable. What are you doing?" Zechs asked, as Treize pulled a small, flat case from the pocket of his trousers. It looked like a rather ornate bankcard holder, made of a beaten silver metal with a black inlaid stylised rose pattern.

Treize pressed with his fingers and then slid the top half of the case back, briefly showing the younger man a collection of small, variously coloured tablets before selecting two of them and swallowing them dry.

Zechs raised a curious eyebrow, but didn't ask. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Treize with the case over the last few weeks and it didn't need a great stretch of the imagination to suppose that the tablets were painkillers and the like.

Pain management had been a problem for the general since his injury, something which had been a surprise for Zechs. The pilot had known of Treize's allergy to Morphine – to opiates in general, in fact – since his poisoning, but he hadn't realised just how many of the strongest available analgesics relied on some form of it to work. Finding pain relief that even took the edge off what Treize was feeling had been a huge problem for his doctors, and the resulting cocktail of drugs that Treize had eventually sorted out himself, left the older man woolly-headed and often nauseous.

Treize sat down again and gestured imperiously for Zechs to sit next to him. The pilot obeyed and was surprised when Treize leaned into him, resting his head on the younger man's shoulder. Instinct prompted Zechs to slip an arm around his friend's waist and hold him, and they sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, before he remembered that he needed to ask Treize about what Une had told him, and to tell him about the meeting in the morning.

"Treize? Can I ask you something?"

"Why do you always start with that, Milliardo? Surely by now you know there isn't a great deal you can't ask me about?"

"I don't know. It just seems polite, I suppose." Zechs started to shrug, stopped himself for fear of jolting his friend and swallowed before explaining, "You might not be in a mood to answer my questions…"

The general chuckled. "Oh? When would that be, then? I've been answering your questions without protest for twelve years now, love."

"I know, but…"

"Just ask me, Zechs, would you? Now, and in the future."

"All right. I, um… Une wants me to tell you Marshall Noventa has called a meeting for tomorrow morning at Horse Guards. Ten a.m. He wants to see all three of us."

"Oh, delightful. I'm sure that will be fun. I'd been wondering how long I was going to get away without being called to some little tête-à-tête. Apparently my stay of execution has been rescinded at last."

"Yes, well…"

Treize chuckled dryly. "Do I sound bitter?" he asked, laughing again. "Blame it on my lack of enthusiasm for this meeting." He sighed and glanced up. "That was hardly a question on your part."

"No, I know," Zechs admitted and then hesitated, biting his lip as he wondered how to phrase what he wanted to ask. He didn't want to cause an argument between the two of them, especially since Treize seemed to be feeling unusually tactile. "Une told me you issued sealed orders a couple of months ago… about the Specials and me," he explained. "She said she thought that's why Noventa wants me at this meeting tomorrow. I offered to go in your place, but she said I couldn't…"

Treize sighed. "Oh, damn," he murmured. "I'm sorry, Milliardo. I'd entirely forgotten about those. I hadn't realised the Alliance would have taken them as applying to this situation, but I suppose they do."

"She was right then?"

Treize nodded slowly. "I imagine so. What did she say exactly?"

"That you'd issued a sealed, standing order that in the event of your… death or incapacity, I was to take command of the Specials."

Treize sat up so he could look at the younger man. "She gave you the gist of it, yes. It isn't quite as cut and dried as that, but you have the idea." He took in Zechs's expression and stiffened. "Why do I think you aren't too pleased about this?"

Zechs shrugged, gesturing sharply. "Because I'm not, particularly. Do you any idea what an order like that could have meant? What would have happened if you'd been killed instead of just breaking your arm?"

"You would have been acting general, to begin with. Don't you want the job? It's not that bad…"

"No, I don't want the job!"

Treize recoiled a little, raising an eyebrow as he sat back further on the couch. "Clearly," he murmured.

Zechs shut his eyes, willing away his temper as he had in the hallway. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap. I just can't believe you would have done it if you'd really thought about it."

"I did really think about it. I don't ever do anything without 'really thinking about it'. You can't possibly imagine that I made a decision like that on a whim?"

"No, of course not!" Zechs agreed reflexively, then hesitated. "But…"

"But?"

"I can't command the Specials, Treize, it's a stupid idea!"

The older man raised a forked brow slowly. "Stupid? Is it?" He shook his head. "I don't happen to think so. Isn't that enough?" he asked quietly.

There was a moment of complete silence before Zechs looked away from his friend's insistent gaze. "I'm sorry, Treize… but no, it isn't. Not this time."

Treize nodded to himself. "I see. Might I ask why you don't agree with me?"

"I just don't. I'm sorry," Zechs repeated. "I don't think I have the ability you have; I don't think the troops would follow me as they do you; I don't think I'm old enough. I know I don't belong in meetings and conferences – I'm best suited to a cockpit. And, it wouldn't be safe. There's too much attention focused on you…" he trailed off, looking back to see the older man gazing at him impassively.

The general shook his head as Zechs stopped talking, smiling without humour. "You doubt yourself too much, my friend," he murmured. "To take your points in order of significance – your age has nothing at all to do with the matter. You could have been King at eighteen, why not General? Yes, you are a brilliant pilot, but it's hardly the sum of your skills and you would have had Une for the worst of the bureaucracy." He waved all that away with his hand. "Of course the men would follow you. Look at Otto – he's loyal to you now, not to me, and he's hardly the only one. Most of our pilots look up to you as a personal hero. I'm merely their bastard of a general. I'm liked well enough, but you could well end up being worshipped. It wouldn't be a problem for you, I can promise you that." Treize stopped to take a deep breath and straightened his shoulders before going on. "I'll admit, you don't have quite my facility for command yet, but you manage well enough. As to the amount of attention I receive, I see why you're worried about it, but may I come back to that in a moment?"

"If you want, but…"

"Thank you." Treize smiled again. "What you must understand, Zechs, is why I issued the order in the first place, and why I did it the way that I did."

"I'd like to," Zechs agreed, wondering what Treize could possibly say to make this all right.

"Naturally. I have a theoretical question for you, then. Given what you know of my… plans for the Specials in the future, and of where my allegiance is truly given, who would you suggest as my immediate successor?"

"Une," Zechs replied immediately. "She's your second in command, after all."

Treize raised an amused eyebrow. "If she were, we wouldn't be having this conversation, love." He shook his head. "I don't have one. Une is my Aide-de-Campe, my Head of Intelligence, and my Chief of Internal Security. She is not, and never has been my second in command."

"Why on Earth not? God knows, everyone thinks she is!"

"Because she isn't suited to it. She's perfect for the roles she fulfils, and I'd be lost without her, but she has no flare for command. She couldn't hold the loyalty of the troops, and neither the Alliance nor Romefeller would be happy with a nineteen year old girl in charge of their elite military wing."

"Kai-Huang then? He outranks me. You have a half a dozen Lieutenant-Colonels under your command that do, all with more experience than I have."

"Yes, I do. Three are Alliance loyalists who will be replaced in short order. One got his job through nepotism rather than talent. Another I simply don't trust. And Kihu wouldn't take the job even if I begged him personally – he made it perfectly clear years ago that Lieutenant-Colonel is as far as he's going. He thinks I'm crazy for letting them promote me."

Zechs frowned at the gentle smile that was playing about his lover's mouth, apparently caused by thoughts of the Specials nominal Luxembourg base commander. As determined as he was to convince Treize to change his mind about Zechs being his replacement, the younger man couldn't help wondering suddenly about the source of that smile – and of Treize's affectionate use of a pet name for the Chinese officer that Zechs had never heard before.

Zechs found himself considering the base commander in a way he hadn't before. Kai-Huang Lian was a small, slim, dapper man perhaps a year or two older than Treize was. His dark, oriental eyes were set in a fine-boned, handsome face framed by raven wing hair, and the golden cast to his skin was shown off perfectly by the deep crimson of his customised uniform coat. An innately reserved man with a penchant for teasing those he considered friends, Kai-Huang approached and accomplished every task he was assigned with steady determination and cool competence, but with none of the theatrical flair Treize wielded and which he was passing onto Zechs himself.

In every respect, Kai-Huang was a polar opposite to Zechs, from physical appearance to personality – which should have reassured the younger man that Treize wouldn't have felt any particular draw to the older officer – but Zechs couldn't shake the abrupt certainty that Treize and 'Kihu' had once shared something more than the casual friendship they now seemed to have.

Treize appeared to notice his companion's distraction at about the same time Zechs drew his conclusions, and he raised an eyebrow at the younger man's expression, pondering what could have caused it.

Mentally replaying the last few words of their debate in his head, and watching his friend's face, he allowed himself to smile slowly.

"Yes," Treize murmured, earning himself a stunned look from the younger man as he answered the question Zechs had been considering asking. "Years ago. Briefly. Don't worry about it, love. Now – to get back to topic…"

Zechs stared at him. "How the hell do you _do_ that!?" he demanded.

"Observation and a bit of lateral thinking," Treize confessed.

Zechs shook his head. "It's more like bloody witchcraft!" He paused, and then, surprisingly, started to blush as a manic curiosity gripped him. Horrid invasion of his friend's privacy though it was, Zechs had the sudden need to ask the general about his former partners, to learn more about the one of the few areas of his life that the pilot didn't already know the details of. "Treize…" he began.

The older man raised an eyebrow and, again, seemed to read what the younger was thinking. "Zechs," he murmured. "If you want to talk about any past acquaintances of mine, we can… I can see why you'd want to know, and I have no intention of keeping any secrets from you." He paused. "But not now."

"All right."

Treize nodded. "As I said, Kihu wouldn't accept the post at gunpoint, and, in all honesty, wouldn't be happy in it. Which neatly takes care of my Lieutenant-Colonels. Any other ideas?"

Zechs shook his head. "No, but Treize…"

"Exactly. I designated you as my successor because I wanted you to have the post and because there is no one else. No one with the ability that I trust enough, at any rate."

Treize sighed wearily. "In all honesty, Zechs, all that has really happened is that you've learned of my plans a month or two earlier than I intended. If things had gone the way I meant for them to, you would have received your promotion to Lieutenant-Colonel before the end of summer, and been designated my official second in command at the same time. That would have made you my immediate successor by default."

The pilot stared at his friend, wide-eyed. "And just how the hell were you expecting to accomplish all that? I haven't been a Major for more than six months! Two promotions in less than a year would be an Alliance record."

The general nodded his agreement. "Yes, it would, but it's not so bad. I managed a steady one every twelve months, and the whole of the Alliance is aware that you're the better pilot." He shook his head. "It wouldn't be nepotism, Zechs, and I won't be calling in favours. You'll have earned the promotion when you get it, I'll make sure of that. To be completely fair to you, you already have earned a rise in rank several times in the past couple of months – you should have seen one after that disaster with the rebel cell back in January. Unfortunately, it was too soon for me to get it pushed through Central Command, and I've been holding back from asking for it again until I can be certain they can't refuse."

Treize smiled suddenly, leaned back and put his head on Zechs's shoulder again. "I know what I'm doing, Zechs – you just have to trust me. Noin will be receiving her orders for her first space command in a few days, and her own promotion. Once she's installed at the Academy, I'll begin reassigning officers and recruiting men. By the time the Alliance has exhausted itself fighting a war against the colonies, the Specials will be in a position to overthrow their military control altogether. The restoration of your crown and your election to the Romefeller Council will do the rest. Between the two of us, we'll be able to push for the formation of a single Earth Sphere council, and the resumption of individual national democratic elections for representatives. Hopefully, within ten years we'll have a stable, lasting peace."

Treize's voice trailed off, and Zechs looked down at him, stunned. He'd had no idea his friend's plans reached so far…

"So you see, Zechs… you really are the only one who can take my place if something happens to me. Besides, how else would you be safe?"

"What?"

"Hadn't you thought of it like that? There are only two ways to keep you safe, my love. My father and I came to that conclusion years ago. Either you vanish into obscurity, and spend the rest of your life hiding somewhere, or you must have friends, connections and influence. Right now, I can supply those for you, but if I were gone… Timothy would inherit my title and various other duties, but he hasn't the power he'd need to protect you."

Treize sighed and sat up again, looking down at his hands. "There's a letter attached to those sealed orders, intended for you if I should be killed, detailing what I think would be your best course of action."

"Treize, I…"

The general pressed one long finger to Zechs's lips to silence the pilot before he could interrupt. "I said I'd come back to the amount of public interest that I have to suffer, and I have. You're worried that you couldn't keep your identity a secret under that kind of scrutiny, and you're right – you couldn't. In fact, I was counting on you not being able to. My first, best piece of advice in the event of my death would be for you to publicly announce your identity, and reclaim your crown and your Kingdom with as much of a media frenzy as Une can create for you. It was only ever a matter of time before someone found out who you are anyway. I've been… discouraging… interested parties for at least three years now. Without that shield, your survival would come down to a simple balance – whether you were less of an embarrassment to the Alliance dead or alive. It's much harder to assassinate the general of their own elite military wing – a highly visible figure, who just happens to be the last Prince of one of the oldest monarchies in the world – than it is to have Major Zechs Marquise Killed in Action."

Treize held Zechs's eyes for a moment, pressing his point home, and then looked away. "Now, can we not talk about this anymore? I don't even want to have to think about that scenario."

There was genuine distress in Treize's voice. Cool strategist though he was, apparently all this was too much even for him.

Grateful, confused, saddened, and perversely thrilled by this new evidence of how much Treize must care for him, Zechs nodded his agreement.

Moving gently, careful not to jar the older man, the pilot pulled his lover into his arms and held him for a moment before bending his head to kiss him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

It was a bad day from the very start.

The edge taken off his exhaustion by the hours of sleep he'd managed in the library, and left tense by the conversation he'd had with Zechs, Treize had not settled well in bed, unable to relax and forget about the ache in his arm enough to fall asleep, despite trying every trick either he or the pilot had ever heard of. Eventually, he'd overridden Zechs's protests and ordered the younger man to go to his own bed, pointing out that it was useless the both of them being exhausted the following day.

Zechs had gone, finally, in the early hours of the morning, leaving Treize to doze fitfully till his alarm went some hours later.

The younger man appeared in Treize's rooms again just as the general was pulling his dressing gown around himself. Zechs was already perfectly dressed in his uniform and carrying a cup of coffee that called to the older man from clear across the room. He took the cup from his friend, emptying it in two long swallows, with only enough of a pause between them to allow him to take the first dose of his painkillers for the day.

Having finished the coffee, Treize went about the rigmarole of showering and dressing, choosing to wear an immaculately cut frock coat he'd purchased the day before, because it was almost exactly the shade of his uniform jacket. Within a few minutes the caffeine was doing what he had hoped it would and overriding his lack of sleep.

Unfortunately, in combination with the pills, the coffee was enough to unsettle his stomach and the jolting stop-and-start of the staff car sent by Noventa as it fought its way through the London rush-hour traffic did nothing to help. By the time his party reached Horse Guards Treize was beginning to feel rather ill.

The concerned look Zechs shot him as they climbed from the back of the car into the cool spring air was enough to warn Treize that he didn't look much better than he felt, but there was no time for more – Marshall Noventa was waiting for them on the steps that led up into the old stone building.

"Good morning, Colonel Khushrenada. I do apologise for asking you to attend this meeting before you have recovered fully."

Une and Zechs exchanged questioning glances, doubting the veracity of that statement, but Treize shook his head. "Not at all, Marshall. I am, after all, a soldier. It is only a broken arm."

"Indeed, my boy. You are healing well, I hope?"

"Perfectly, Marshall, and thank you for your concern. I'm told it will only be a matter of time." Treize forced a slight smile as the Marshall led the way into the building. "May I know what the agenda for today's meeting is to be?"

"I'm surprised you need to ask, Colonel. I would have thought the topic was rather obvious."

"Ah – indeed." Treize nodded slowly, then looked up. "May I have a moment with my officers then?"

Marshall Noventa cast the younger man a speculative look, but smiled his consent. "Of course, my boy. Room five, when you're ready, then."

"Thank you."

Treize waited until the Marshall had walked away and then beckoned his three juniors to him. "You were right, Une," he started. "This is not going to be pretty."

Une scowled. "I didn't think it was, sir. I knew the Marshall's senior aide at the Academy, sir, he's something of a friend of mine."

"Useful."

"Yes, sir."

Treize smirked, then looked at the other two officers. "Noin, if this goes the way I hope I'm afraid you aren't going to have a lot to do today."

The younger woman shrugged. "That's all right sir. I'd still rather be here than sat at the house wondering all day."

"Indeed." Treize acknowledged. "You'll probably find that the officers in residence will be willing to chat with you and make you a drink or some such, if you want to go and find them?"

"Yes, sir. Good luck," she added as she strolled away, obeying Treize's unspoken command to gather any rumours she could from the other junior officers milling around.

Treize watched her go, and then looked up at Zechs. "You're going to be in the worst position today, my friend. I can do the arguing, but I can't authorise any decisions. They need you for that at the moment and they're going to be pushing hard for you to agree to whatever the Marshall has in mind. Une and I will do our best, but you will have to be left looking as though you can handle the job on your own, so we won't be able to shield you much."

Zechs nodded his understanding, and Treize continued, lowering his voice as he spoke. "I don't know what they're planning but be careful what you say, and, for God's sake, don't agree to anything that sounds even slightly unusual. 'I need time to study the files before I can give you an answer to that. I'll get back to you.' is a perfectly acceptable answer to almost anything they can throw at you. As long as you don't commit us to anything I'll be able to handle this all my way when I'm back in Luxembourg."

"I understand, sir. I'll do my best." Zechs hesitated, lifted a hand as though to touch the older man, and then stopped, realising where they were. "Treize, are you all right? You look a little…"

"Green?" Treize asked with a snort. "Not a surprise. I'll be fine," he lied, "it's just the tablets having their usual effect. Come on," the general ordered as he began to walk in the direction Noventa had taken. "They did this deliberately, you know. Une's power is compromised by the fact that she didn't anticipate the attack, you're a political virgin – you have no idea what sharks these people are – and I'm rendered toothless by regulation. We're in no position to be playing these kinds of shell games with the Alliance HQ. I really don't feel well enough to even try," Treize added as they reached a door marked with a polite number five.

Zechs froze in alarm at the older man's admission. "Treize, if you…"

"Forget about me," Treize interrupted a little coldly. "You can't afford to be worried about me. You won't have the time." He raised an eyebrow, squared his shoulders and his face changed. "Smile, Major, and welcome to my world."

* * *

Zechs flicked his gaze across the people in the room for the dozenth time in the last twenty minutes, matching their faces to the list of attendees at the top of the Order of Business that had been waiting for him on the table in front of his chair.

He could place the vast majority, having met them at various functions and conferences over the past couple of years, but there were one or two he'd never encountered before the Marshall's aide had made the formal introductions that had opened the meeting.

The aide was still talking – running through the various points to be addressed, despite the fact that they were quite clearly printed in front of everyone at the table.

Zechs allowed his attention to drift from the aide, turning his head slightly until he could see his companions from the corner of his eyes. Sat next to the younger man, close enough that Zechs could just detect the general's cologne, Treize was leaning back into the support of his chair, his eyes fixed on the screen Noventa's aide was referring to, one elbow resting on the arm of his chair. The thumb of his right hand was stroking slowly over his lips, and only someone who knew Treize as well as Zechs did would have been able to tell that he was thinking about anything other than his immediate surroundings. As the younger man watched, Treize coughed slightly, then swallowed, closing his eyes briefly as he reached for the glass of water in front of him.

Zechs felt his concern for his commander rack up another notch, realising that he had seen Treize behave in exactly the same fashion at the ball in the wake of the attempted poisoning. Recalling how ill the older officer had been that night, Zechs had to wonder just how nauseated he was feeling now and whether he was up to sitting through what was promising to be a lengthy meeting.

Aware – however much he hated the fact – that there was nothing he could do to help his lover one way or another, Zechs tore his attention away from him and looked past him to where Une was sitting.

Unlike Treize, she was making no pretence at listening to the aide waffle on, and was leafing through the last pages of the folders they'd been handed, her eyes flicking back and forward behind her glasses as she scan-read them. Whatever was in them, she didn't seem to like it much, and as the aide finally sat down, she tapped Treize lightly on the arm, pulling him from his reverie.

The older man turned to look at her, and then leaned in to read whatever she was pointing to. Zechs couldn't tell what it was that they were looking at, but whatever it was Treize didn't like it either. He turned his head to glance a warning at the younger man but didn't have time to speak as Marshall Noventa cleared his throat.

"The problem we face, my friends, would seem to be obvious," he began. "In the past few months there have been a number of attempts on the lives of several members of this board – One attempt apiece at myself and Colonel Rena, two attempts at General Septum and no less than four aimed at Colonel Khushrenada. Thankfully, all attempts have failed, but we cannot guarantee that this will continue to be the case, especially given the nature and the severity of the last such attack."

The Marshall let his words fall into silence, and Zechs watched as they struck home, even as he was grateful to the mask he was wearing for hiding his own shock. He'd known for a few weeks about the attempts at Treize, but he'd heard nothing about any others.

The sudden scratch of paper against his hand made Zechs glance down to see that Treize had written him a note:

'_What do you think of how my companions are dealing with this?'_

It took Zechs a moment or two to work out that Treize meant the other officers who had been targeted by 'companions' and then he looked around the table. Unsurprisingly, Noventa appeared calm, as did Treize, but Colonel Rena – who was one of the officers Zechs hadn't met before – appeared to be fighting a smile and General Septum was red-faced and looked ready to explode.

The paper flicked again as Treize added something to his note:

'_Watch Septum…'_

It crossed Zechs's mind to wonder why Treize was choosing this rather inefficient method of telling him things – surely it would have been easier just to lean over and whisper exactly what the general thought he needed to know?

Following his commander's lead, Zechs picked up his own pen:

'_Agreed – he's angry.'_

He hesitated a moment, then added:

'_Colonel Rena? I don't see the humour.'_

Treize caught his eye and let his gaze smile at the younger man warmly. He pulled the paper back towards himself and began writing swiftly, before pushing it under Zechs's hand again.

'_Septum isn't angry – he's frightened._

_Jean-Michel Rena, __Viscount Dallier__, is a… friend.'_

Zechs caught his breath as he read, understanding instantly what Treize was trying to tell him. The pilot flicked another glance at the non-descript man seated opposite him, and wondered just how Romefeller had managed to get one of their own installed as Head of Alliance Intelligence.

Before he could scribble the question to Treize, Septum exploded.

"Sitting around in meetings is all very well, but I want to know what's being done to make sure there are any more of these attacks!?"

Noventa's face showed open surprise. "My dear General – that is the _point_ of the meeting. We cannot proceed to any form of prevention or retribution without a clear and firm understanding of events so far."

The man sitting to Noventa's right – Zechs placed him as General Ventei, Noventa's immediate junior – leaned forward, quelling Septum with a glance. "It seems to me that we would be best to begin by laying out the events in question in the order that they happened, and analysing together all the information that we have. Perhaps with such examination we may come to an understanding of what must be done in the future by way of prevention?"

Septum opened his mouth to protest again and was cut off by another speaker.

"General – I understand your concern for your safety completely. I, too, have been the subject of these attacks, and I have no desire to experience another, but we are safe enough in this room and perhaps a better understanding _would_ facilitate matters? What would our Intelligence people think of such a thing?"

Zechs turned his head to look at Treize, who had spoken without moving from his relaxed position in his chair, and wondered why he had spoken at all. Zechs had been under the impression that Treize was here as little more than an observer, but he supposed he should have known better than to think Treize would simply sit and watch.

No-one else around the table seemed to think there was anything odd in the older man having interrupted, and Noventa merely looked over at Rena, just as Treize turned his own gaze on Lady Une.

Colonel Rena offered the room a smile. "Gathering information is what I do, gentlemen. If you all want to _give_ it to me for a change, I'm not going to refuse. I was due for a holiday anyway."

He won a low chuckle for his efforts.

"Lieutenant Une?" Noventa asked.

"It seems a logical enough course, sir."

"Very good." The Marshall folded his hands on top of the table, and inclined his head in Treize's direction. "I believe the first attempt was at you, my boy. Perhaps the Specials could start?"

Treize sat upright gracefully and nodded back. "Certainly, sir."

Zechs listened as Treize detailed the events of the poisoning in September, noting that Treize chose to gloss over some details, including the exact nature of the poison that had been administered, then turned to each of the other officers in question as they recounted the attempts on their lives.

It was a litany of possible methods. Treize had faced death from poison, a shooter at one of the balls and someone trying to stab him in his sleep. Noventa's assassin had sabotaged the engine of a plane he'd been due to fly on, and been caught out by an eagle-eyed mechanic. Someone had taken a sniper shot at Septum, and then had set up the ventilation system in his cabin on the moon base to vent toxic gas instead of air. Most bizarrely of all, in an attempt to take out Rena, the assassin had left a spider inside one of his uniform boots – had he actually put the things on without looking he would have been bitten and killed by the venom. As it had happened, he'd knocked the boots over by accident and the spider had been thrown onto the floor.

Finally, the only attack left undescribed was the one at the Dover base, and once again the Marshall's aide got to his feet to explain the results of the investigations that had been carried out.

As he sat down again, the table dissolved into quiet mutterings as everyone leaned in for discussion with their neighbours. Zechs turned his head to do the same with Treize, and had to stifle an alarmed gasp when he saw how pale his friend was.

On Treize's far side, Une was looking at the older man with equal concern in her brown eyes. She glanced at Zechs, surprising him when it became clear that she was silently asking his opinion on what to do next.

"I told you not to concern yourselves with me," Treize muttered. "Anne… go through the data again. There's something…" He waved his good hand in front of him, fingers closing as though to grasp whatever nebulous images were simmering in his mind. "A pattern, a… something… I'm missing." Treize sighed, his breath hissing between his teeth. "Damn these pills! I can't _think_ like this! There's a connection between the attacks, I can feel it, but I can't quite…"

Lady Une exchanged a second worried glance with Zechs and then, her eyes wide from Treize's use of her first name, she bent her head to her papers, flicking through them with renewed intent.

The pilot watched her helplessly, knowing there was nothing he could contribute to her efforts. No matter how good his grasp of spatial equations, how instinctive his knowledge of stress-strain tolerances or burn-to-thrust calculations, or any of the thousand little tricks that made him the Specials top pilot, he was useless to Treize in this situation.

It wasn't a comfortable feeling.

Treize closed his eyes, letting his head rest back against his chair. "Zechs, help me."

Zechs tensed subtly. "With what, sir?"

"I need you to talk to me. Do you remember the situational analyses I made you do when you were in my class at Victoria Academy? I need you to do the same thing with all this data. Start anywhere you like and just... talk. Free associate it all with anything that comes into your mind, I don't care how random."

"I… all right, sir. But I don't know where to begin…"

"Anywhere you like. What was the first thought in your head when you were listening to us describe the attacks against us earlier?"

"Why you?" Zechs blurted, then cringed at the bluntness of his words. "Sorry, sir."

Treize chuckled softly. "Sweet, liebling," he murmured. "It's not a bad place to begin. Go on – what next?"

"Uhm… why you as the target? What have you done? Then, why any of you? What have any of you done to warrant being targeted? What have you got in common, or are you being singled out for entirely different reasons? Is there one group of people behind all of the attacks, or one group behind each of you? Or, is there one group behind some of the attacks, and another behind the rest… there are some odd differences in M.O. – there could be no connection between any of the attacks, it could all be just coincidence…"

Treize shook his head at that last. "Not likely. Assume there's some sort of connection."

Zechs frowned. "Yes, sir… I…"

A warm hand came to rest on Zechs's shoulder, making him jump and breaking his train of thought. He looked up to see Marshall Noventa standing behind his chair, looking down at Treize solemnly. "What are you thinking, Colonel?" he asked.

Treize opened his eyes and sat up. "I'm not sure, sir. We're all missing something, but I don't know what." He flicked a glance in the pilot's direction. "Keep going."

Zechs glanced warily up at Noventa but the old man merely smiled down at him like the grandfather he was. "Far be it from me to interrupt genius at work," he said, his tone of voice a touch ironic.

The pilot dropped his eyes back to the table surface, suddenly irritated. Noventa made no pretension to liking Treize, or to trusting him. Apparently, though, like the good little commander he was, Noventa thought nothing of using Treize to get what he wanted.

"Zechs, I need you to keep talking to me," Treize prompted, and the younger man looked up guiltily. Treize needed his help – this wasn't the time for him to be indulging in petty mental bitching.

"Ummm," he hesitated. "Going with there being some sort of connection between the attacks then…" Zechs stopped again, and shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir, I just can't see any sort of connection between all the attacks. Even the ones on you personally just don't seem the work of the same person, never mind all the attacks together. You said it yourself in October – the mind that could conceive of poisoning your drink would _not_ stoop to pulling a gun on you in a ballroom – and yet the second attempt on your life was someone doing exactly that!"

Treize had sat up as Zechs talked, turning his head to stare at the younger man. "I did say that…" Sapphire eyes suddenly flashed and hardened. "That's it! Brilliant, Zechs! That's it exactly – that's what we're missing! These assassinations attempts are the intent of one faction… but they are the execution of different agents." He turned to look at Une, who was leaning over the table to confer with Rena. "Lady! Track all the data we have on the assassin's weapons themselves – is there anything about it? Any connecting influence? We've been looking for connections in the style, what about the tools?"

Une's brown eyes widened and Rena canted Treize an appreciative look. "Want to consider a career change, Treize? I could use you…"

Noventa gave a dry chuckle. "Well done, my boy! Genius, indeed." The Marshall made his way back to his chair and sat down.

Une and Rena were working furiously, garnering slivers of data from Rena's assistant as they talked. Treize was listening intently, jotting absently on the note pad in front of him as he did so. Zechs leaned closer to him, reading what the older man was writing over his shoulder, and was surprised to see that he was drawing a rough map of some kind – locating the various bits of data in a chart of the earth sphere.

The pattern became clear very quickly.

"L5," Treize sighed. "I might have known."

"Why?" Zechs asked.

"The L5 colonies are predominantly oriental in extraction – with the exception of the Japanese, who went to L1 – and they're fiercely proud. Isolationist, arrogant and insular. Every colony is under the control of branches of various powerful families, and they fully intend to keep it that way. They've never forgiven the earliest version of the UESA for forcing them out of Asia and onto the colonies in the first place, and they bitterly resent the inroads into their independent control the Alliance have been making in the last few years." He sighed and shook his head. "I've only ever once been to L5, and it was like stepping back into something out of pre-colonial history. The children are still taught all the ancient customs – language, traditions, martial arts, everything. Scions of a culture far older than any existing nobility in Europe and the Alliance has the gall and the stupidity to treat them as ill-educated savages. It's not so surprising at all that it would come to this."

The general shot Zechs a look which clearly communicated his feelings. "Just as the Alliance did with Heero Yuy when he dared to speak against their dominance," Treize murmured, his voice little more than a whisper. "As they did with Sanc, as they've been trying to do the Arab Independent States, they've been looking for an excuse to launch an all-out assault against L5 for years so they can quash them completely. I'm terribly afraid that in trying to defend themselves, L5 has just handed them they excuse they need."

Zechs felt his breath catch, and he swallowed to clear the sudden tightening of his throat. "Will Rena…?"

"Draw the conclusions I have? Yes, of course he will. Will he have my concerns? No. He's Euro-centric aristocracy to his toes – L3 he would have protected, but not L5. Romefeller has the same problems with L5 as the Alliance." Treize caught Zechs's eyes with his own and his gaze was intense. "Zechs, you _must _be careful in what you agree to…"

"I understand, Treize, better than anyone."

"Yes, but…"

Noventa suddenly cleared his throat, calling for the attention of everyone in the room and Treize was forced to cut short whatever it was he had been about to say.

Zechs turned his chair back to face the Marshall, not at all shocked to see Rena straightening up from where he had been murmuring into Noventa's ear. As the Marshall began to talk, his voice grave and quiet, about the treachery of the L5 colonies, Zechs fought off a shiver at his sudden feeling of foreboding.


End file.
